#to take my mind and your minds off of this petulant behavior

[officialaemondtargaryen]

filling up my queue now, then im going to get absolutely fucking baked and watch succession and finish writing this next chapter of A Fine Line.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - fem!reader, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, prolonged imprisonment.

“Mistress prisoner?”

There was a knock, the sound of hoofed feet shuffling against a tile floor. You shrunk into yourself, suddenly thankful you’d chosen to take such a claustrophobic linen closet to seek refuge in, that Neuvillette’s awful gowns provided so much fabric for you to bury yourself in.

“Mistress prisoner? Are you alright?”

Another knock, a round of hushed whispering. Clearly, he’d sent more than one, this time.

“Should we get a healer for you, mistress?”

You swore under your breath, burying your face in your knees. Curse your bleeding heart.

Slowly, taking pains to wipe the lingering tears from your cheeks without wrinkling the fine silk of your sleeve, you pushed yourself to your feet. He was a bastard of a man, an underhanded thief masquerading as the living embodiment of justice, but tragically, Neuvillette had caught on to the only weakness you had in this palace of unearned punishments and hollow promises. You would be able to bear it if he thought of you as a petulant child, too stubborn to accept his protection or his love, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be quite so heartless when it came to the melusines.

You pulled the door open, resting your shoulder against the frame. He’d sent three, this time – all wearing modified garde uniforms and none standing taller than your waist. They were clustered close together, but as you emerged, the centermost girl stepped forward, this one totting pastel pink skin and curling horns and cheeks you’d give anything to squeeze. “We spoke with Monsieur Neuvillette,” she started, clearly shy despite having appointed herself as the leader of their little group. When she paused, her gaze fell away from yours, dropping to her feet. “He said you wouldn’t mind if we asked why you don’t want to attend the opera with us, tonight.”  

Oh, you were going to throttle that old man.

You forced yourself to smile. No part of you wanted to be seen in public with your captor, to hear onlookers praise his kindness, his willingness to care for even the most irredeemable of criminals while knowing he wouldn’t make it past the first aria before finding some reason to pull you into some unused dressing room and abuse his authority yet again. But, explaining the length of your hatred to the creatures he showed so much fondness toward would be like trying to tell a child that their favorite candy was the source of their aching cavities. You were better off saving your breath. “Neuvillette didn’t mention that you’d be coming with us.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” It was the blue one, this time – with flowers dotted across her arms and legs and a tone so meek, it was all you could do not to take her into your arms and promise her that you’d go to as many operas as she could stand to attend. “He said it’d help to raise your spirits.”

You let out a soft coo, crouching down to their height. “It was a very sweet idea,” you said, fighting not to melt at the sight of their little, doe-like noses and big, star-filled eyes. “And I very much appreciate that you three would care enough to try and cheer me up. It’s only…”

You paused, clicked your tongue. Predictably, the third member of their little trio (who had yet to uncross her arms or drop her adorably pointed glare) chimed in. “What is it? We don’t have all day, y’know.”

“Well, I might not be at my best, but Monsieur Neuvillette’s been awfully lonely lately too.” Lonely – that was one way to put it. It was hard to imagine he’d even be capable of feeling anything so fundamentally human. “I’m afraid, if I’m having so much fun with all of you, he might feel a little left out. You can understand why I wouldn’t want to do that to him, can’t you?”

There was a round of nodding heads, of words of affirmation. The leader piped up first, both hands balled into fists and wide eyes bright with a resilient spark. “We won’t let Monsieur Neuvillette get lonely!”

“We won’t leave his side!”

“We’ll stick to him like glue!”

With a breath of a laugh, you pulled the little trio into your arms and press a kiss into the tops of their heads. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, girls. I’ll see you at the opera house tonight, and remember–“

This time, you didn’t have to fake your smile.

“Don’t let Neuvillette go a moment without your delightful company.”

[slasherscream]

I love your writing! And you just get my craziness and character obsessions. I was thinking what would happen if reader had a bruise cheek or lip, and refuse to tell them what happen. Then they discover that the reader was the one who beat the shit out of someone for saying something about their partner, and how proud yet pissed off they will be. I’m think Crazy Ass Girls Gang, need more possessive and protective FMC. Thank you!

warnings: yandere behavior - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Tiffany Valentine - Tricks you into thinking she’s gonna be normal about it. She purses her lips when you won’t tell her anything, but quietly rushes off to get the first-aid kit. WATCH OUT! You have just activated a trap card: emotional manipulation. Her most powerful weapon. She’ll silently and dotingly take care of you. Disinfectant. Gentle Hands. Careful bandaging. Petulant silence. Painkillers lovingly dropped in your hand. Big sad eyes staring up at you. When you inevitably break and tell her what happened she could melt! She does melt, straight into your arms. You’re gonna be covered in lipstick by the time she’s through with you. Her hero. Don’t worry, she’ll help you clean up… eventually. Later, you’ll have to help her clean up too. It was so romantic of you to fight for her honor…. But she'd never let someone live after they hurt you, silly.

Jordan Li - Won’t drop the line of questioning until you’re damn near ready to fight her too. She hates that you’re hurt. She loves that you wanted to defend her. Jordan gets a lot of criticism, sometimes it seems never ending. The fact that you feel so strongly about protecting her, not because you think she can’t fight her own battles… but because she shouldn’t have to do it all alone? It means a lot. Still, she doesn’t want you getting into fights. Let alone fights over her. It doesn’t matter how badly you hurt the other person. If there are marks on you Jordan is going to go find them for round two. “You like to put hands on people?” Words spoken seconds before disaster (she’s ignoring the fact that you started the fight. Jordan could give a shit about semantics.)

Nancy Downs - Don’t wanna tell her? Cool! Get ready to experience her favorite couple’s activity besides shoplifting: abusing your coven bond to read your mind! Hooray! It will hurt badly. Because Nancy always makes it hurt when you keep her out on purpose, or hide things from her (or when she thinks you’re doing that.) But don’t worry, after she realizes how sweet you really were, she’ll make you feel all better. Cooing over you as much as she ever allows herself to coo. Cleaning your cuts. Healing you with her magic. Trying to ease the fever that always comes whenever she uses your bond in a way she shouldn’t. She thinks you’re the stupidest, sweetest thing. You’re witches. You don’t have to use your fists anymore to win fights. She leaves you with the coven and goes to enact a witch’s vengeance on whoever dared to lay a finger on you. 

Jennifer Check - You’ll try not to tell her but she immediately starts making such wild accusations you have to just come out and admit to why you’re injured. “I can smell someone on you. If you wanted to get beat up to get your rocks off you should’ve just told me, I’d happily beat the shit out of you.” Start talking quickly! She looks like she’s about to start fulfilling that nonexistent wish now. Once you tell her she has to suppress a smile. She’s a demon. She doesn’t need you playing knight in shining armor over what some jealous, mouth-breathing, loser is saying about her… but, it’s kinda hot that you did. She’ll show you just how hot she thinks it is. Then you two are gonna take a nice little drive, and you’re gonna point out the jackass who put bruises on you. She’ll fuck you again after she’s full. “Thanks for finding my next meal, baby.” 

Victoria Neuman - Victoria expects you to have better self control than this. Not telling her what happened isn’t an option. Ever. The look on her face when you first try and insist that nothing happened is enough for you to quietly admit you got into a fight. Her blood pressure sky-rockets. You two have an image to maintain. You’re her spouse. She has enough problems as it is. She’s thinking of viral videos, nightly news, seedy gossip magazines doing think-pieces: do we really want this person standing behind the president as first spouse? When you tell her you fought one of the Boys for trying to convince you she’s a monster? Well…. She goes a little softer. Victoria will pull you into the circle of her arms and thank you for being so loyal to her. She means it from the bottom of her heart. She’s also dreaming of the day she can pop their fucking heads. Touching you. Talking to you. Trying to turn you against her… they’ve crossed her last line. 

Carrie White - The moment she sees you she’s in hysterics: “Oh, Angel, what happened?!” You’re really gonna sit there and not tell her anything? She’s worked herself into an anxiety attack within seconds. She can hardly open the first aid kit, she’s shaking so bad. The sound of your voice is always so soothing for her that you’ll start telling her the story just to have something to say. She listens quietly while she cleans you up. You’ll have to pull her into your lap before long, and kiss her gently. You’re all she has in the world and it scares her to death to think of you putting yourself in unnecessary danger. You’ll fall asleep curled into each other’s arms. You whisper soft reassurances: “Nothing’s gonna happen to me / I’ll always be here.” Carrie tries her best to listen. You’ll wake up alone, but wander downstairs just as Carrie walks through the front door. She wanted to get her knight in shining armor some breakfast from your favorite diner down the street. She watches you eat with a big smile, and thinks about how she’ll have to burn those clothes in the trunk of the car. She couldn't risk them trying to hurt you again.

Ginger Fitzgerald - Don’t piss her off. If you don’t tell her exactly who touched you she’ll rip the entire city apart. Women, children, men, everyone. Anyone. “Do you want me to do that? Huh, baby? Is that what you want me to do?” No? Then start talking. She won’t be able to see through the blood-lust long enough to take care of you. As soon as you say a name Ginger’s out the door. She’ll only return once she’s thoroughly covered in viscera and gore. She’s still dripping with it when she crawls into bed with you, smearing the blood across your body. She’ll lick at any injury you have, until they’re clean and closed, your skin smooth and unblemished. She’s the only thing that can leave marks on you. She’ll kill anything else that tries. “You don’t have to lift a finger for me, baby. If you want someone hurt, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you.” Just run your fingers through her hair and try not to cringe as your fingertips get stained red. 

Patricia (Split) - She’s devastated by the state you come home in after she allows you to go out on a walk all by yourself for the first time since you were…. taken. You’d been so good for her. So obedient. So sweet. She wanted to reward you. And now your eye is starting to bruise, and your clothes are all askew, and your knuckles are swollen. Her calm demeanor cracks, and it’s a struggle to stay in the light. She takes deep breaths, centers herself. None of the others are what you need, right now. You need her. She strips you down, runs you a bath, won’t even let you hold the washcloth. It’s only as she’s patting you dry that she can force out words, finally: “What happened to you, sweet thing, hmm?” The guilt nearly brings her to tears. Months of keeping you close and look at what just a pinch of negligence has done to you… You try to assuage her guilt. You tell her you ran into a neighbor, who’d seen the two of you out together once Patricia trusted you enough to accompany her for little things like grocery trips. You say it’s your fault you came back to her in this condition. That you just couldn’t stand the vile things they said about her. Her face drops into an expression you’ve never seen. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by that comforting, ever present smile she wears for you. She takes you by the chin and kisses your forehead: “My little sweet thing. Playing knight, are you?” You had her love before. Tentatively, you had something like trust. Now Patricia trusts you completely. Even so, you won’t be going out alone again. Patricia trusts you. But it’s clear she can’t trust the world to be gentle with you. Don’t worry, though. All you need to do is ask, when you want to feel the sun on your face. You never see that neighbor again, no matter what time of day you and Patricia go walking.

A/N: thank you!!! we need more batshit crazy women with something wrong with them! Batshit crazy women with something wrong with them unite! if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writer's fuel is engagement. Xoxoxo

[faintrustle]

You were wearing GOJO SATORU's favorite white button-up shirt. [Part 1]

🔞 FOR 18 YEARS OLD AND ABOVE ONLY! 🔞

One sunny morning, while Satoru Gojo was busy preparing breakfast in the kitchen, he found himself clad only in his usual comfortable pair of sweatpants. He moved fluidly through the task, humming an absent-minded tune, clearly unfazed by his somewhat compromising attire.

Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him. Turning around, he noticed you standing there, looking excited. You were wearing his favorite white button-up shirt.

The sleeves were rolled up to your elbows, revealing your soft, delicate arms. The top buttons were undone, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of your cleavage. The hem reached your thighs showing off those enticing smooth legs.

He also noticed that you had taken care to neatly tie your hair up before going out of the bedroom, giving him a clear view of your neck when he looked at you from behind. Feeling emboldened by the knowledge that you weren't wearing anything underneath his shirt after your steamy encounter last night, Satoru couldn't hide his desire and appreciation for you. "Well, well, well... look who decided to wear my shirt today."

“How do I look?”

Amused by your playful antics, he poked you with a teasing smirk. Watching you turn around, your hips swaying playfully as you flexed his shirt, made his pulse race. The fact that you weren't wearing slippers added an extra layer of cuteness and innocence.

Raising an eyebrow, he couldn't deny your appeal; seeing you in his shirt was undoubtedly a sight to behold. Grinning devilishly, your boyfriend replied instead, "You should wear my clothes more often." Determined to maintain control despite the temptation in front of him, he forced his focus back onto cracking eggs into a bowl, whisking them until they formed a frothy mixture.

“Ehhh??? You didn’t answer my question!” Feeling frustrated by his lack of attention, you decided to employ a bit of childish behavior to get his notice. Lowering your lips into a pout, you suddenly approached him from behind, your arms wrapping around his waist.

Satoru paused, acknowledging your presence. He turned his head, taking in the sight of your puckered lips and petulant expression. "Looks like the cat has finally decided to show some affection," he teased playfully.

"Alright then, Little Grabby Hands. What do you want from me?" Despite your efforts to appear innocent and charming, there was no denying the fact that something primal stirred within him at the sight of you.

Sensing the warmth of your body against his bare back sent a thrill of delight through him as if electricity sparked inside of his body. The rigid length between his legs ached for another round of intimate contact in the depths of your wet folds. A mix of desire and possessiveness coursed through him.

“I’m asking if I look good in your shirt.” There’s a slight annoyance in your voice.

"Ah, yes. You look rather delectable in it." Satoru’s Sapphire eyes twinkled mischievously then he added with a chuckle, "Just as scrumptious as this omelet I'm cooking up for us."

He winked charmingly at you before returning to tend to his cooking again. Caught off guard by his bold compliment, embarrassment painted your cheeks bright red as you hid your face on Satoru's broad back. A satisfied smirk played at the corners of his lips when he noticed your reaction.

You stood silently behind your boyfriend, watching his movements with intense interest. He was so controlled, so graceful, even while cooking. His muscles flexed under his skin as he expertly chopped vegetables and seasoned meats, every action demonstrating his mastery of not only combat but also the art of living.

You noticed faint scratch marks scattered across his otherwise pristine skin. A surge of heat filled you at the thought of being the cause of these marks, knowing that last night was filled with intense passion between the two of you. Gently, your other hand crawled from his hips to his back, tracing those marks with your fingertips.

As your fingertips explored the rugged terrain of his back, Satoru couldn't deny the surge of pleasure that shot through him. He was acutely aware of how close you were standing, your hot breath tickling his skin, your body pressed against his. Each touch sent electric shockwaves flowing through his veins, heightening his already ravenous desire for you.

"You know, if you keep doing that, I might end up eating you instead of this omelet.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, taking on a predatory gleam that made your heart race.

“Shut up.” You blushed like a tomato again. It was as if his words caressed that sensitive spot between your legs that you felt it throbbed. “Just speed up the cooking. I'm already hungry.”

"Fine, fine my spoiled little kitten." With a smile, Satoru submissively yielded to your childish defiance. While flipping the eggs on the pan, he felt a sudden movement against his side.

You wriggled and squirmed behind him, finding an opening to insert your head between his bicep and ribs. Looking down, he caught sight of your adorable face peeking at the food he was cooking. Damn, he loves it when you’re this so clingy.

“You should let me cook too.”

“You want to burn the house?”

“You—! But I just want to cook for you!”

“Oh, so you want to poison me?”

In retaliation for being teased so mercilessly, you impulsively bit down on Satoru's muscular back. The sudden sting and sharpness caused him to tense up so involuntarily that he almost dropped the pan. Putting the pan down, he turned to face you.

With a raised eyebrow and piercing azure orbs, he took hold of your chin and lifted your head to meet his gaze. "You're really asking for trouble, don't you, y/n?" There was a mix of playfulness and challenge on his face.

“It’s your fault for being so mean!” You’re standing in front of your boyfriend, pouting again with the cuteness of a stubborn kid. Your lower moist lip quivering slightly while you’re folding your arms across your chest, maintaining a defiant expression.

As he observes you pouting adorably, his heart races, and heat pools in his loins. He bites back a growl of desire, feeling himself grow increasingly aroused. The image of you biting him while fucking you rough only serves to fuel his fantasies.

"Not entirely, sweetheart." Desperation fueled Satoru’s actions as he roughly yanked you forward, pushing your upper body against his and crushing your breasts beneath that annoying shirt of his. His thoughts were killing him.

He still couldn't ignore the thought of you not wearing anything underneath his shirt. While he was cooking, his mind was consumed by erotic images of your naked body. The persistent bulge in his sweatpants grew more uncomfortable as he struggled to focus on cooking instead of giving in to his primal desires.

“H-Hey Satoru, what are you doing?”

You swallowed nervously, your heart racing as you felt his bulge press against your lower belly. A mix of intimidation and arousal swirled within you, causing your legs to tremble ever so slightly. Your cheeks flushed crimson at the thought of what was to come.

"I'll teach you how to use that pretty little mouth of yours properly." Suddenly, without warning, Satoru turned off the stove. Before you could register what was happening, he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you up effortlessly, planting you on the kitchen counter. His shirt rode up, revealing more of your bare thighs while you squealed in surprise and alarm.

The clanging noise of the pans behind you filled the air, echoing through the otherwise quiet house. As he towered above you on the kitchen counter, his blue eyes looked at you with feral hunger and pure lust. It was an expression designed to weaken the resolve of even the strongest of women.

“Itadakimasu!” Satoru Gojo purred before pushing your legs apart…

[To be continued…]

[xythlia]

— FALSE LIFE ˎˊ˗

› ascended astarion x f! spawn tav

› word count : 2k+

› sorry but his ascended lines do something to me >.< & I finally felt brave enough to post this after my 200+ game hours (also im open to astarion requests btw :3)

warnings : mdni. compulsion. noncon elements. posessive behavior. angst ish. fingering. toxic relationship. reader has hair long enough to brush off shoulders. reader wears a revealing dress. pet names (dear, darling, little love, ect.). oral f receiving. he calls you dinner sorry lol

This is the first time he's ever done this, compelled you.

If heat could still pool beneath your skin, anger more akin to molten lava beneath the surface, surely it would have. He broke his promise to you, the small thread of security that allowed you to go along with becoming a spawn. You also want to weep, wish tears could well freely in your eyes and track down your cheeks.

But even that is denied to you. Instead you're rooted to the spot, the marble flooring devoid of any echoing footsteps and the air hanging thick with frightening anticipation.

You can't reflexively jump when his lithe fingers move your hair from your shoulders, brushing your own equally icy skin. Much of your body is routinely on display for the vampire ascendant, something else you've always swallowed your displeasure on. There is also the absence of a gasp as his hand grips the back of your neck, an odd pantomime of a mother cat carrying its kitten by the scruff.

"Tell me," he asked, "do I not give you a life of constant pleasure?"

The words slip from your mouth unbidden. "Yes."

"Haven't I made sure you want for nothing?"

Again. "Yes."

His grip tightens, forcing your head to the side a bit and you wish you could wince.

"Then why, my little love, are you so insistent on acting like an ungrateful brat?" He spits out the question, forcing you to meet his ruby gaze by turning your head himself. You've never felt more doll-like, a petulant child.

"You compelled me. Forbade me from going outside the palace bounds. It upsets me that I cannot see our friends and companions. It upsets me that you broke your promise." Your affect couldn't be flatter, a dizzying contrast to how much pain you truly felt inside, a cruel effect of compulsion.

The dining room is quiet, thick with tension as he seemingly takes in your reasoning in silence.

The laughter that bursts from his lips is harsh, not because it's forced or hollow, but because it's real, legitimate laughter. He releases you to cross his arms, chortling so much tears well in his eyes. It makes something absolutely hideous twist in your gut, watching his display as if your feelings were nothing but the realms crassest joke.

All the while you stand statuesque, frozen and seething as your lover mocks you.

"Don't be stupid, darling. You're mine, remember?" Astarion caressed your jaw, positioning himself front and center in all your senses. "Your future has been mine to decide the moment that little worm was ousted from our heads."

Your eyes catch the scar on the side of his neck, bite marks like a twin to your own. Something else inside you is dying, a slow march, and soon the Crimson Palace will be more like your mausoleum than your home.

"Yes."

"Good," he pauses, seemingly sizing you up for reasons unclear, "Sit back. On the tabletop, darling."

Your movements are automatic, body and mind completely untethered from one another in terms of control. An anxiety grips your mind, sharp fingers digging into your brain and you perch on the vast, ornate table.

"Mhm, you know, I didn't get to finish my meal since you decided to spoil dinner with your silent sulking." His smile is a wicked thing. "But I do think we should move on to dessert now anyway."

One hand slides up the revealing slit of your dress, icily fondling your flesh and slowly inching upwards before his fingers are brushing along the seam of your underwear. All you can do is remain frozen, legs spread, as if you were a plaything for him to pose and contort any way he pleased. You suppose that's all you might be now.

"How about an... even trade, of sorts? In exchange for forgiving this little trespass with no punishment, you agree not to question my decisions."

Its not fair, the answer isn't truly your own. "A deal, yes."

A contented sigh leaves him as his index finger rubs up and down your clothed cunt, but his eyes are sharp and you know it's not lost on him how damp your underwear is. When he grins again those fangs are on full display, exaggerated by the shadows cast from the flickering candlelight.

It breaks your heart that he's as beautiful as ever, that still the baser parts of you can't help but desire him.

His plush lips find yours with comfortable familiarity, the perfect genius of their synched movement a testament to how much time he's spent mapping your mouth, committing it to memory. As you slip your arms around his neck you realize the compulsion is gone, but desire keeps you rooted in place, enjoying the feeling of his wandering, groping hands.

Forcing yourself to forget for selfish pleasure is surprisingly easy, a skill you've cultivated the past few months.

You gasp into his mouth as his fingers slip past your underwear, swiping through your wetness before lazily circling your already aching clit. The stimulation makes your hips jerk, chasing his hand for more friction but his other presses firmly against your hip to keep you still.

"Don't be gluttonous dear. I'm the one who didn't get to finish my dinner." He whispers against your parted lips, trailing sloppy open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, the exposed tops of your breasts, until he's sunk to his knees in front of you.

As he lifts the skirt of your dress you lay back against the heavy polished oak table, and if your heart could race it would be galloping out of your chest in anticipation. Thankfully Astarion doesn't keep you waiting long, he was true to his word that there was no punishment this time as he pulled down your underwear and trailed chaste kisses from your calf, your thighs, all the way to your soaked cunt as you squeezed your eyes shut.

"My delicious little treat," he murmured, his breath fanning across your skin, making you clench around nothing right before he placed a kiss to your clit.

The smallest of moans escaped you and it was enough to encourage him, tongue swiping through your arousal as his fingers prodded at your entrance. When he sucked against your clit your back arched off the table and every noise became amplified: the way you were panting, the slick slurping sounds of his mouth working against you, the squelching as two fingers slid inside you to start scissoring against your spongy walls. The cacophony was enough to make your head spin as your hands flailed downward, looking to grasp any part of him you could reach.

Grasping at his alabaster hair you cry out his name, with the same reverence one would use to call out to a god, and it only spurs him on. He groans against you as your hips start to rise, chasing the stimulation from his tongue and feeling the first embers of climax catching in your abdomen.

"Please -" tears slip down your cheeks as his fingers increase their pace, his tongue devouring you ceaselessly and you nearly choked on your own cries as your thigh muscles tense impossibly tight.

Your legs shake against his shoulders as your fingers scrape against his scalp, the embers now transformed into a roaring pyre, burning you from the inside out as the edges of your mind start to peel from the internal heat and pressure. You squirm recklessly, mouth hung open in a silent cry as your upper half rises off the table.

Slowly you lay back, struggling to control your muscle tremors and with one final kiss to your throbbing clit, that makes you yelp, Astarion pulls back, draping your skirt back in place and slipping your underwear in his pocket.

"You see, I can be quite forgiving darling. Just don't push it in the future."

[cowgurrrl]

Keep the Wolves Away

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: Dedicated to my real life Andies. Thank you for making me feel easy to love.

Summary: The worst decision [5.2k]

Warnings: platonic threatening, discussions of bad mental health, so much flirting that (spoiler alert) might be real, possible THE shittiest ex I ever could've written, all the southern pet names, alcohol consumption, the resurgence of an old nude of readers, gaslighty behavior, smoking cigarettes (don't smoke kids), Joel talking reader out of a spiral, two (2) kisses

"So, it's a date." Andie declares once you're done explaining everything to her over FaceTime. You pause your blush application to roll your eyes at her. 

"It's not a date!"

"I'm sorry, so I'm just supposed to believe you when you say you're going to be just friends with the hot, sweet single dad who sounds like he's head over heels for you?"

"He is not head over heels for me." You sound a little petulant, and Andie laughs like she did when you were in high school and trying to hide a crush from her. 

"Babe, he willingly went on a high school field trip just so he could see you."

"His daughter was there. I'm sure he wanted to spend time with her."

"I'm sure he did because he's a great dad, but he also wanted to see you in your element. It's sexy watching someone do the thing they love." 

"Yeah, yeah." You brush her off, and she scoffs. You toss your makeup brush back into its bag and check out your outfit in the mirror. It's nothing insane— just a plain black slip dress— but now that Joel's arrival is getting closer and closer, you're rethinking everything. "Do I look okay?"

"You look stunning!" Andie chirps. "I'm sure your not boyfriend will think the same thing."

"I'm going to get a plane ticket to Austria just so I can choke you out with my own two hands." You threaten, but she laughs so hard you can't stop smiling. Once the trans-Atlantic giggling dies down, the line goes quiet, and you take a deep breath as you pull your mascara out. 

"Are you nervous to see him?" She asks gently. Andie came home for the summer dubbed The Dark Days. She stayed over when the one-bedroom apartment felt too big and got you out of the house when you couldn't stand the four walls anymore. She took whatever he left behind to his new apartment so you wouldn't have to (and gave him a piece of her mind while she was at it). She made you believe in love again. Not sticky, frustrating, unpredictable romantic love but pure, easy, all-knowing love that can only come from long-enduring relationships such as yours. 

For a long time after he left, you thought you were hard to love. Too loud, too bright, too much. Until you were out at a bar with her one night, trying to find the remnants of your independence and self-esteem tucked under sweaty beers and cracked leather chairs, when someone pointed out how similar you and Andie were. "Like two sides of the same coin," the woman told you. Andie is one of the easiest people in the world to love with her quick wit, creativity, and smile. And you realized for the first time if you had even a shred of that, even if only by dint of knowing and being loved by her, then you must be easy to love too. You must be worth the mess and heartache and stained fingerprints. 

So, yeah, Andie was less than pleased to hear that all that hard work could be undone by seeing him again, but she was supportive. 

"I don't know," you sigh. "I'm not a kid anymore. I've had more years without him than I did with him, but it's still scary."

"I know." 

"I don't even know what I'm gonna say to him."

"He'll probably be too busy with the gallery and everything. Maybe you won't even have to." She says, and you groan at the uncertainty of everything. 

"God, why did I say yes?" You ask as a knock interrupts your whining. You end your call with a quick "I love you, thank you, I'll text you" before throwing your phone down. "Come in!" You yell from the bathroom as you rapidly finish doing your makeup. There's a pause on the other side before he jiggles the knob and finally comes in. "I'm just finishing up in the bathroom. Give me a minute." 

"D'you always leave your door unlocked?" Joel asks. The sound of his unsure footsteps reaches your ears, and you smile at the thought of him looking around your apartment like a lost toddler. 

"Only when I know someone's coming over," you say. "Sorry, it's a mess."

"Oh, this is nothin'. You should see Ellie's room." He says, his feet pacing the floor. You swipe on a cute lipstick you never wear and finally step out into the living room where Joel is waiting. He's wearing a black button-up shirt with nice pants as he stands with his back to you, looking at some of the things on your wall. 

"Well, don't you look nice?" You compliment, making him turn around with a shy smile. His eyes roam over you, taking in every detail or sliver of skin he hasn't seen before. His intense gaze reminds you of how he looked at you in the bar when you were sure his eyes would melt you. He looks dumbstruck, and his Adam's apple bobs when his eyes finally settle on your face. 

"Wow… you look-"

"Choose carefully." You tease to take some of the tension out of the room. 

"Beautiful," he says, thwarting your efforts. "You always look beautiful." 

"Thank you. Not so bad yourself." 

"You like it? Ellie helped me pick it out," he anxiously fiddles with the sleeves of his shirt. "Feels weird." 

"What specifically feels weird?" You ask, stepping closer to him to examine his outfit. He smells like aftershave and the cologne he's prone to wearing. Why the fuck do you have his cologne memorized, you think to yourself. 

"I dunno. I think I just feel outta place." 

"Well, you don't look out of place," you say. "These might be what's doing it, though." You tap the top buttons of his shirt, the ones buttoned all the way up to his chin like a toddler going to Christmas mass. 

"Ellie said I should do all of 'em since it's a fancy art thing."

"Well, you should stop taking fashion advice from a fifteen-year-old," you laugh. "I promise it's not fancy enough to justify being uncomfortable." 

"I'm takin' your word for it." He says as he reaches up to undo his top two buttons, revealing freckles across his chest and collarbones and the tiniest sliver of a gold chain resting against his throat. For some reason, you can't tear your eyes away from the veins in his neck or the delicate necklace stuck to his warm skin. "What, it really looks that bad?" He thankfully breaks through your thoughts, and you try to recover by shaking your head.

"No, no. Not at all. You look really nice," you say, clearing your throat. "Let me get my purse, and we can go." You don't even wait for him to respond. You just turn on your heels and walk to your bedroom. In the security of your bedroom, you let out a long exhale and try to get your mind back on track. 

You're just nervous. He's being nice. You're being nice back. It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing, you mentally chant. When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you almost have to laugh at the fierce blush on your cheeks and the distracted look in your eyes. "You better get it together." You say, pointing at yourself in the mirror like it's gonna do anything to make tonight smoother.

The gallery is packed when you get there. Joel curses under his breath as he tries to find a parking spot, and you try to keep your anxiety at bay. All you have to do is show your face, look at the paintings, and leave. Maybe you can manage to steal a bottle of the cheap wine they're undoubtedly serving. It'll be an hour. Two tops. You can do this. 

You're so in your head that you didn't notice that Joel parked the car or that he was looking at you until he bumped your knee with his. 

"You okay?" He asks. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Just need a second." You mumble. You fiddle with your earrings, your dress, anything to keep your hands busy as you psyche yourself up. 

"When's the last time you saw this asshole?"

"He wasn't always an asshole," you try to redirect, but he raises his eyebrows at you. "Since I graduated college." 

"We don't have to go in." He offers easily, and you give him a look. 

"Yes, we do. My name's on the list and everything." 

"So?" He shrugs. "The world's not gonna end just cause one person didn't show up."

"But you drove all the way here."

"And I can drive you all the way back. Besides, it's nice having a pretty girl in my truck. It wouldn't hurt to have you here next to me for a little while longer." He says, and you laugh, feeling some weight lift off your shoulders.

"You get many pretty girls sitting in your truck?"

"Just my pretty girls." 

"Right." You say, and he smiles, creating familiar crinkles in the corners of his eyes. They look a little deeper in the moonlight, but his eyes shine differently. Your fingers itch to draw them if only to critique your work and find the answer to why he has such an effect on you. You're aware that you're staring, but you also can't find it in yourself to look away. Not when he's staring back at you so fondly. 

"What can I do to help you?" He asks. You feel like you could cry at the sincerity in his voice. You've talked to Ellie about her anxiety, so you know he has some practice in dealing with it, but he's acting like it's second nature. Like this is what he was meant to do. He bumps you again when you start messing with your purse. "Do you want this to be like at the bar? Do you want me to take you home and pretend like we were never here? Do you want me to go in there and crack some skulls? You say the word— any word— and I'll do it for you, darlin'." 

Darlin’. It's what he called you when you promised revenge for almost kissing you at the bar. Normally, you'd be against any form of pet name. Henry was not openly affectionate in that way, and you learned not to expect it from him. But here's Joel, dropping the term of endearment almost every time he's been alone with you. It could be that cowboy accent or his knee pressed against yours, but the nickname fills your chest with warmth and pushes away your anxiety. 

"Any word, huh?" You ask, and he chuckles. 

"My mama raised me not to make promises I didn't have every intention of followin' through on." He says. "What'll it be?"

"I think… I just need you to be there with me." 

"Then, that's what I'll do." 

"Okay." You mumble, and he smiles as a new wave of comfort washes over you. 

"Okay." He says.

"Okay." You take a deep breath and look at him in the driver's seat one more time. "Let's do this." Finally, you open the door and step down from his truck. He's quick to come to your side and offer you his arm before he can even finish locking the car. You smile, tuck your hand under his bicep, and let him keep you upright as you walk in. 

The gallery is full of people who look way more qualified than you— art critics, journalists, and other artists who can actually sell a piece. They barely glance at you and Joel when you breach the doorway, which you're silently grateful for. When a waiter walks by with champagne glasses, Joel quickly snatches two glasses from the tray and hands you one. 

"Here's to us." He says, and you cock an eyebrow at him. 

"Us?"

"Well, we're sure as hell not toastin' to that asshole, are we?" 

"I guess not," you laugh as you clink your glasses together. "To us." You each take a sip, and Joel tries to hide his reaction to the champagne, but you see right through it. "Not your speed?"

"Not at all." He groans as he chokes it down. 

"Don't worry, maverick, we'll get you something else later." You promise and tuck your hand back under his arm as you start walking through the gallery. 

A lot of his newer work resembles his work from college— normal portraits of things like fruits, beds, or people but with unexpected lines of colors lining them like they're vibrating. You even recognize some from your college days. You just never expected them to actually be displayed in this way, not even when you were dating and telling him what a good artist you thought he was. Some have vague titles like "$12" and "Jack," while others are untitled. You can see why it would get taken in by a gallery. There's a very clear skill in how he paints and manipulates everyday objects into something new. It would be impressive if it was interesting. 

Maybe you're just used to the way he paints. Maybe this is exactly what you expected of him. Maybe you thought he would've grown, if not in attitude than, at least, in skill. But it's clear that too many people told him good things about his work, and he saw nothing he needed to change or fix. Somehow, it makes you feel better, not worse, about your own art. 

"So, are these supposed to be good or bad?" Joel whispers to you as you get closer to the next section, and you laugh a little too loudly. The people around you give you nasty looks, but you can't find it in yourself to be sorry.

"Like I said at the museum, I can't tell you that, but…" you glance around to make sure nobody's listening to you. "As someone who saw him make a lot of art, this is definitely not his best."

"Okay, that's what I thought," he says before pointing at a specific part of the painting. "The shape is really weird right there, like he ran outta space or somethin'." You let go of his arm and step between him and the painting, smiling knowingly.

"Did you study for this?" You ask, and he nervously plays with the chain around his neck. 

"I may have… snuck a look at Ellie's notes." He admits sheepishly, and your eyes widen. 

"You were actin' like you were gonna have to rely on me this whole time! You don't need me to tell you what good art is!"

"Yeah, but I want you to." 

"Oh, whatever. C'mon, I wanna hear what else you think." You pretty much drag him to the next section of the gallery, but he's pliant and almost giddy at your hold on him. You take more time in the next part, and he ducks so his lips are near your ear to point out little things he notices. He said he was scared of being wrong in front of people "smarter than him," but all the observations he makes are valid and accurate. He lets you add your own analysis to his and watches you with a smile when you start talking with your hands excitedly. Suddenly, you're not nearly as miserable as you thought you would be, and you're even laughing together as you jump from painting to painting. 

"See, this isn't so bad!" You say as you move to the final part, but your smile and enthusiasm die when you step over the threshold. There, staring at you unashamedly is the painting Henry did of you when you were twenty and topless. He told you it was for his own artistic development, and you were more than happy to do it for him. You just never thought he would've kept it after all these years. Thank God your face isn't visible in the painting, but your rigid posture tells Joel everything he needs to know. He politely turns his back to the painting and steps between you and your likeness. 

"You wanna go?" He whispers at the same time someone calls your name. You take a deep breath and grab Joel's hand for support as you turn around and face Henry. His wavy blonde hair frames his face like it did in college but he's matured. His beard is a little more filled in, and he's gotten a little broader. Other than that, he's still the same person you met freshman year. 

"I'm so glad you could make it!" He says as he approaches. He doesn't try to hug you, and you don't move to let go of Joel's hand. "You look great. I mean, you always looked great, but you know what I meant," he says, looking over you. Only when Joel clears his throat does Henry even look at him. "Oh, sorry, man! We're old friends. I'm Henry." He holds his hand out for Joel to meet halfway, but he doesn't. You think it probably took fighting every single bit of southern hospitality in his veins to stop himself from shaking Henry's hand.

"'M Joel." He says, and Henry awkwardly drops his hand. 

"Nice to meet you, Joel. How are you enjoying the exhibition?" 

"'S alright." Is all Joel offers, not willing to gas up Henry's ego anymore, and you have to stifle a laugh at the expectant look on Henry's face. "Well, I think we were just goin'."

"Oh, so soon? You haven't even seen the last few pieces."

"Are those any better than the thirty identical ones I already saw?"

"Joel," you scold quietly, and his jaw flexes when you look at him.

"It's okay. Not everyone understands art enough to enjoy it." Henry says. 

"Oh, I understand everythin' just fine." You swear Joel would've punched him if he wasn't holding your hand so tight. You step in between them and raise your eyebrows at Joel. His shoulders are squared, and you can feel the molten anger rolling off him, but it softens just a bit when he meets your eyes. You squeeze him twice to let him know you're okay, and he nods. 

"Can you get me a refill on champagne? I think they're still walkin' around with some." You suggest. He gets the hint, but he obviously doesn't like it. He glances between you and Henry like he's trying to make a decision but folds when you mouth, "please," at him. 

"’Course," he says through gritted teeth. "Anythin' else I can get for you, baby?" Baby, that's a new one, you think. 

"No, I'm alright. Thanks, though." You say. Without thinking, you let your other hand rest on his jaw and kiss Joel's cheek. His jaw unclenches when your fingertips graze his stubble, and his shoulders relax when your lips make contact with his skin, but you know he's still upset because you're still upset. Joel smiles and walks away before you can get a good look at the blush creeping up his neck, and you're resigned to watching him disappear into the crowd. 

"He seems nice," Henry says the second Joel is out of earshot, and you have to resist the urge to laugh. 

"He is." 

"How'd you two meet?"

"Through work." You say, knowing that bringing up teaching will make his skin crawl. He sucks his teeth and nods, the champagne in his glass sloshing slightly.

"Ah," he says. "That's nice."

"Yeah," you agree. An awkward silence falls over the two of you quickly, and you're itching to find Joel in the sea of people. Henry notices your lack of attention on him.

"It's really good to see you," he says. "I feel like I haven't talked to you in forever."

"Yeah, that's usually what happens when you leave someone." 

"That's kinda why I invited you here tonight. I wanted to apologize for the way things ended," he acts brokenhearted and torn up about it, but he's years too late for the pity party he's expecting. "I should've talked to you about what was going on. We were just... becoming so different, and it felt like you were always talking to Andie or other people in the program, and there was no way to reach you."

"What are you talking about? I asked you multiple times if we were okay, and you said yes every time. I was talking to Andie so much because I needed someone who would understand me and be able to help." You say, and he waves his hand like he's swatting flies.

"Let's not do this. My therapist says it's not healthy to rehash the past like this. I just wanted to make amends and let you know I'm sorry for how you felt." It's not an apology. Not a real one, anyway. Jesus Christ, what did you ever see in him? Before you can even open your mouth to say something, he gestures to the gallery. "So, what do you think about all this? Crazy, right?"

"It's... something," you say. "Wish you would've given me a heads up about that one before I brought someone with me." You point in the direction of your half-naked body on the wall, and he gives you a confused look.

"I thought I did in the email." 

"Nope, I think I would've remembered if you said something about a half-naked painting of me from college being displayed," you shake your head. "Why do you even still have that? I thought you would've thrown it away or painted over it or something."

"Why would I do that? It's a good piece."

"I know it's good because it's my body. What's weird is you leaving me without a word one day and then keeping a naked picture of me all these years." 

"I didn't even think of it as your body. After a while, it was just a body," he says with no remorse, and you think you might hit him yourself. "Besides, you should take this as a compliment. Not many women get the opportunity to be depicted as art. It's a wonderful thing. You might even thank me one day when you're older." Finally, you see Joel walking toward you with a glass of champagne, and you take refuge in the fact that he's returning for you. "But, from what I can see, they've definitely stayed the same, so you probably don't have anything to worry about." He says like it's a secret or a compliment. You don't even wait for Joel to say or do anything. You just grab the wine from him and throw it in Henry's face. The people in the immediate vicinity gasp as you slap him and shove the empty glass into his hands. 

"Out of all the stupid things I imagined for myself when I was younger, thinking I would marry you was the stupidest," you spit. "Don't you ever try to fucking contact me again."

You feel like a fucking idiot. What did you expect? An apology? Repentance? Regret? He barely apologized when you were together. Why would he start now? God, was he always that bad? How could you have been so blind? How could you have shed so many tears over him? How could you have let yourself be so vulnerable with him and for so many years? It's a miracle he didn't call the cops and try to get the two of you arrested, even though Joel didn't do anything. You think, at least. The second you finished your sentence, you ran to the bathroom to cry and then snuck out through the back to wait outside Joel's truck. For all you know, Joel (rightfully) beat his ass and is on the run from artsy Austin hipsters. 

You put the lit cigarette back in your mouth and take a long drag, the familiar burning in your lungs a sick relief. You quit during The Dark Days because smoking was something he did, and you wanted to rid yourself of any reminder of his impact on your life. Apparently, at the same time you were scrubbing his fingerprints from your bones, he was in possession of and doing God knows what with the visual reminder of your vulnerability and love-sickness and acted like it was nothing. Like it was a compliment. Like it was just an object instead of your body. Andie would be pissed if she were here but especially if she saw you smoking after she braved all those shaky days and nights of nicotine patches and dried fruit and whatever other remedy recommended to help you quit smoking. You half-expect the same anger when you see Joel walking toward you. 

"Before you even start, I know I shouldn't, okay? It's a bad habit from when I was a kid, and I've mostly kicked it. I just... had a lapse. I'll be back on my best behavior tomorrow," you say as he stops in front of you. He doesn't look angry or upset. He just looks concerned and maybe even a little sad. Suddenly, you regret running away from him when all he probably wanted to do was help. You probably wouldn't have bummed a cigarette from a busboy if you let him. "Don't tell Ellie." You plead. His eyes flick over your face before he takes the cigarette from your fingers, puts the lipstick-stained filter in his own mouth, and inhales deeply, making the ember glow in the dark of the night. When he exhales, he blows the smoke away from you and lets the wind carry it in the opposite direction. A considerate smoker. You should've guessed.

"Don't tell Ellie," he says, handing the cigarette back to you. "Are you okay?"

You shake your head and take a long drag. It's quiet between you two for a while, the only sound being the cicadas and the distant chatter of the gallery. They're probably still talking about the psycho bitch who threw her wine in the artist's face. You don't really care. "I'm sorry for tonight. I don't know what I was expecting, and I sure as shit didn't know that painting was gonna be displayed. I swear, if I had any idea how bad this was gonna be, I wouldn't have invited you." 

"Why are you apologizin'? It's not your fault." 

"I shouldn't have roped you into this. I should've just said no, ignored the email, or came by myself. It's not fair that you got put in the middle of all this, especially when you were just trying to be nice. You're the parent of one of my students, and for you to see that side of me is just inappropriate. I just-" he stops your rambling by putting his hands on your shoulders and making you look at him, the cigarette falling to the pavement in the process. 

"Hey, hey. Stop. Take a breath." He says. Your head hurts from crying, and part of you wants to crawl into a hole and stay there until these feelings go away, but his eyes are gentle, and his hands are warm. You think he might be the only reason you're holding it together right now. "None of this is your fault, okay? Not the painting, not the conversation, none of it. We're both adults, and we can handle these things rationally. I'm not scarred for life just 'cause you lost your temper."

"But I-"

"No, buts. You told me the situation, and I didn't care. You warned me bout the art people, and I didn't care. You threw a drink in that asshole's face, and I didn't care," he says. "The only thing I care bout right now is makin' sure you're okay. Fuck everythin' else." You search his face for anything to tell you what he's telling you is going against his inner monologue but find none. He's completely and wholly concerned about you and nothing else. Not how fast he can get out of this. Not how this might look. Not what other people might think about him. Nothing. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Fuck everything else." You agree. 

"Now, you're gettin' the hang of it." He jokes, and you roll your eyes at him. He takes it in stride, his smile never fading as he looks down at you. You stop messing with the hem of your dress and let yourself relax for the first time all night.

"Thank you for being here, Joel. I really appreciate it."

"Not our best not-date, but definitely a memorable one." He says, and you laugh. You seem to realize how close you are at the same time because you both fall silent. His curls are beautifully draped over his face, and you can't stop watching his tiny expressions. An eye squint. A purse of the lips. A bite to the inside of his cheek. You want to blame your bad night or the emotions, but you can't. There's something more there. Something that's been brewing beneath the surface since he came into your classroom. Something that will kill you if you don't act on it.

You let your hands come up from your sides and tentatively brush against his waist as you stare at him, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't. He just stares down at your lips, and the hands on your shoulders slowly move across your skin and up your collarbone— leaving goosebumps in his wake— until his hands are on your jaw and your pulse is thrumming against his palm. You pull him closer by his belt loops, and he doesn't hesitate to crowd your space, pushing you into the side of his truck with his body. His lips ghost over yours, just barely touching, and his nose bumps yours. 

"This is a bad idea," you breathe, tightening your hold on him. He nods and presses his forehead against yours. He's still close enough to breathe the same air as him, but the distance feels like miles. You lean forward a fraction as a test, and he doesn't move. If anything, he seems annoyed you didn't kiss him.

"D'you want to stop?" He asks, sounding just as breathless as you feel. You shake your head and swallow hard when he brushes the hair off your shoulder, and you can feel his heavy hand holding you. Your hands skate over his ribs, feeling muscles and a crazed heartbeat, and his jaw clenches. "Then you better do somethin' cause you've been drivin' me fuckin' crazy for weeks." 

Finally, you catch his lips with yours. He tastes like nicotine and smoke, and you know it's going to take a lot more than patches to get you to want to stop doing this. It's gentle and sweet, all relieved sighs and shy touches until you pull away for just a second to second-guess yourself or ask him something. You don't even start to form the words before he's back on you with more fervor. Suddenly, it's like he's everywhere but not nearly close enough. He nibbles at your bottom lip and tests a hand on your sternum, long fingers grazing your throat. The metal of the truck digs into your back, but you stop caring when a little moan slips from his lips when you pull him closer.

This is a bad idea. A horrible one. A bad habit you're gonna need to kick. 

But he might just be your favorite bad idea so far.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk

[moodymisty]

so ummm. i also caught cato sicarius fleas. idk what happened but now i want to be bullied by the big arrogant blueberry. send help.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: I hope this is what you meant by bullying cause uuuuuuuuuh -microwave noises-

Summary: Cato Sicarius tires of being your just your escort.

Relationship: Cato Sicarius/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lewd but not nsfw, dubcon, bullying sorta, Titus is an Ultrachad™ and Sicarius gets jealous you like him and tries to show you who the captain of 2nd company really is (which is still Titus in my heart but in this case no) Nonconsensual kissing, Armor kink, choking kinda, Demeaning behavior

He is worth more than this.

Cato Sicarius is captain of 2nd company, one of the most honored Ultramarines in this millennium. He is worth more than guard duty, escorting around baseline humans. One of Guilliman’s prized diplomats perhaps might be worth more than a common guardsmen, but in his eyes, you’re nothing more than an idea he deems largely stupid.

His genefather had been collecting diplomats as of late. Sicarius sees little need in it, but as his Primarch insisted he grits his teeth and bares it. He must have ideas beyond his scope to understand, though it doesn’t mean that Sicarius doesn’t struggle to see the logic.

“Motion sick, Captain Sicarius?”

One of the younger marines dares to joke at his petulant expression.

“We are worth more than shuffling around diplomats,”

Sicarius spits out in response, and you speak up. You’ve been within hearing distance this entire trip, and even in the silence everyone could hear Sicarius seething.

“Your fellows don’t seem to mind.”

You’ve heard from them that Sicarius is more than a harsh captain; He’s a stoic, pompous man in need of a hit to his ego. Even by Ultramarine standards. Once you’d broached the subject, the men in 2nd company escorting you a previous time had been quite eager to complain.

The Thunderhawk lands and you can hear the engines kill off one by one, and the rear ramp falls. There’s a significant gap between it and the ground, and while the Ultramarines walk down as normal, for you it’s a hefty drop.

Lieutenant Titus, whom you’ve had multiple interactions with before at this point, turns just before you’re about to jump and reaches a hand outward. You accept his hand and take the jump off the ramp.

“Thank you, Titus.”

He nods, but says nothing. You follow beside him and for a moment realize you’ve lost sight of Sicarius, before Titus speaks up and distracts you.

“You’ve already spoken to Lord Gulliman?” You nod and cross your arms, entering the massive fortress and escaping from the harsh winds.

“Yes. Only to give me a few necessary details. I imagine he has far more to do than speak to me.” You laugh and gently pat the arm of Titus’ armor, fingers brushing against the dents and scratches.

“But we can only hope they’ll see reason," you say, referring to the planetary officials you're currently going to meet. "I’d hate for lord Guilliman to be forced on employing harsher measures.”

Titus nods in a gentle understanding, and you continue deeper into this fortress area you’ve been welcomed to. Sicarius elects to post himself outside of the room you’re delegated to have this meeting in, alongside two other of his men. The rest, including Titus, whose face he cannot stand anymore at the moment, will post inside.

With his hearing and the systems in his helmet he can just hear the goings on inside the closed room, hearing your lighter voice in contrast to the others in the room.

She's a useful and gifted diplomatic negotiator, Guilliman had said about you the first time he had placed Sicarius in charge of escorting you. Make sure she isn't harmed, her work is important to keeping Ultramar under control.

If the old planets of Ultramar don't wish to conform with Guilliman's return, they should be applying force to demand they submit, not touting around fellow baseline humans to placate them.

Sicarius', stuck in his own head, wrinkles his forehead and scoffs. A younger marine beside him looks for just a moment, before rubbing his nose with his gauntlet and looking away. Sicarius can hear you issuing farewells now, and since there was a notable lack of yelling, he assumes it went well enough.

Sicarius turns to the other marines beside him, his hand on the pommel of his chainblade. He turns just as the doors open, and gestures to his men while you stand behind them.

“All of you start returning to the Thunderhawk and watch our perimeter, I will escort her back myself.” They hesitate for only the tiniest moment, but do begin to take their leave. They have no ability to refuse their captain, no matter how odd the request.

You watch them walk past you, before Sicarius’ voice cuts the air like a knife and forces your eyes to him.

“With me.”

You don’t have any reason to refuse him per se, so you follow him with an apprehensive feeling, and expression.

"Shouldn't we return to the-"

"Quiet."

Your lip curls, though you're still apprehensive as you end up somewhere far from where you entered, and he stops your walking his a rough hand on your shoulder. Astartes are lightning fast; He doesn't it before you even truly realize. With said hand he pushes you against the wall, and knocks the air from your lungs, and his hand moves to your face instead. He presses your cheeks inward, your breath is harsh as your fingers try to pull at his gauntlet.

“What are you doing?”

You say trying to wrench yourself free, fear in your eyes. Such a task is impossible however, and Sicarius uses his other hand to pull off his helmet and hang it on his thigh. His short hair is messy, and his cheeks are flush red. With anger or something else you have no idea, though you know he is furious.

“You’ve gotten too comfortable with your lack of respect; Being Lord Guilliman’s favorite.” You lose any bit of snark when you realize Sicarius is deathly serious. An angry astartes isn’t something you ever want to face, and color drains from your face as you realize how tightly you're stuck between him and the wall.

"You're far too delicate and small to be walking around like you can order Ultramarines around. Titus only allows you because he knows he's being watched after his incident."

His nose wrinkles, and he glances away as his lips shift, trying to find the words.

“Why do I always get stuck with you,” He growls, speaking about how he shouldn’t be escorting around Imperium parchment pushers. You hesitantly look up at him, face red from his tight grip.

"I," You open your mouth just a bit, trying to find something to say that might calm him down, though it seems like he's mad at something in his own head, as much as he is you.

But you can't find the words, nor would you even have the time to say them, as Sicarius' face leans downward to smash his lips against yours, and freeze you in the sheer shock of it. You have no hope of pushing him away despite your effort and his gauntlet keeps your face firmly forward; You can feel his hot breath on your skin, and his even hotter skin against your own. His lips are rough, you can feel tiny scars rub against your own softer lips, his hand gripping your jaw forcing your mouth somewhat open. His kiss is so angry it doesn't feel entirely like one, when he moves his teeth brush against your bottom lip, and for a moment you think he's going to bite it.

When he pulls away you can hear the soft pop of your lips separating, and see the shine of your spit on his mouth.

“Sicar-“

He does it again, your hands grasp the collar of his chestplate for leverage to try and push him away, and to stay upright. He’s barely letting you breathe, and when his hand moves from your jaw you’re gasping for air. Though his hand simply moves to press against your collarbone, still keeping you pinned between the wall and him; It's just high enough that it slightly presses against your neck, and you can feel his one armored knee force itself between your legs. You smack his chestplate desperately for air, and he pulls his mouth away from you for a brief moment as you gasp.

He only returns moments later however, but in that brief moment you see his face had less anger than it had earlier. You feel his nose press against your cheek, how cold his armor feels as you desperately grasp it.

Your legs wobble as you groan into his mouth, and when he finally pulls himself far enough away from you and takes his supporting knee from between your legs, you crumble to your knees holding your chest and taking in air.

On the floor you're at height with his thighs, and he leans over just enough to grab your face gently.

“If you’re going to be in my company again, I’ll expect you to be on better behavior. You should act as soft as you look.”

His hand leaves your face, gently pushing as he does.

“Captain Sicarius, are you still returning to the Thunderhawk?” An astartes calls him with vox in his helmet, and Sicarius grabs it off of his belt. It'll help hide how red his lips are from how hard he kissed you, your own looking similar; He wipes his mouth with the back of his armored hand before slipping it on and responding.

“We are. I’ll be there in a moment. Just a small detour”

Sicarius casts a glance to you, out of breath with your hand on your chest, before grabbing your arm and gently hauling you up to your feet.

"Not a word about this."

He says, and you can feel his gaze through his helmet. You wipe your mouth with your hand, feeling your swollen lips and the spit on your face.

"Lead the way, Captain Sicarius."

[xximpressions]

The Duchess (5)

Anthony Bridgerton x Duchess!reader

Series Summary: After coming into a title you did not expect, you have a chance encounter with a handsome rescuer.

Chapter Summary: Interruptions

Word Count: 1,431

Bridgerton Masterlist

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Your stride was slow and measured as you leisurely took in the sight of the numerous paintings being displayed on the nearest wall.

With the art gallery deciding to host the opening of a new exhibit on this fine Sunday afternoon, it seemed like most of the ton had arrived to take in what you deemed to be an interesting spectacle.

You knew you could not claim to be anywhere near as skilled as the artists whose works were currently being admired. But even without being an expert, you knew you could appreciate the talent it took to mix various shades of paint into a completed image.

That said, you could not help but to allow your mind to stay pleasantly occupied as you carefully considered each piece of art that entered your view with every passing step.

So much so, that you almost did not notice the enthusiastic approach of a young girl until she almost ran into you.

Catching the girl by the shoulders in order to avoid the oncoming collision, you lowered yourself to her level afterwards in order to examine if she was alright, only to be met with excited eyes and a bright smile instead.

“Duchess! It is so lovely to see you again! Do you remember me??”

Unable to stop yourself from returning the elated grin you were receiving, you happily exclaimed,

“Miss Hyacinth! Of course I do! What ever are you doing here?”

Overjoyed at such a greeting, the young girl in front of you replied,

“I am here with my family! My mother insisted we attend today’s opening.”

Hiding your amusement at the petulant eye roll the child gave toward the end of her sentence, you started to say,

“Well if you truly came here with your mother, then I am sure she is currently wondering where you are—”

But as if on cue, you both heard the girl’s name being harshly repeated.

“Hyacinth!”

Snapping your heads in the direction of the voice, you each saw the hasty approach of a respectably dressed woman coming your way. While you returned to your full height, she sternly said upon her arrival,

“What have I told you about running off, young lady?”

Properly feeling chastised, you saw the way Hyacinth dropped her eyes to the floor in reprimand before remorsefully saying,

“My apologies, Mama. It is just…I saw my friend, the Duchess, and just had to say hello!” 

Following the gesture her child made in your direction with her hand, the woman in front of you locked her gaze with yours as she finally seemed to take notice of your presence.

You made sure your expression was kind as she suddenly exclaimed with a sincere politeness,

“Oh! Of course! Do forgive me, Duchess!”

Recognizing how her behavior could have been seen as undignified, the person you now knew to be Lady Bridgerton followed this up by sheepishly saying through a nervous smile,

“I apologize for such a lack of composure, your Grace. I was simply worried for my child you see.”

Shaking your head to show there was no offense taken, you immediately said,

“Nonsense! It is the business of mothers to worry about their children, is it not?”

Relieved to receive such an understanding response, the woman’s smile transformed into something that was a bit more earnestly meant as she warmly said in agreement,

“Indeed it is, your Grace.”

The dowager Viscountess had just been about to ask how it was you knew her daughter, when said daughter enthusiastically asked a question of her own first.

“Duchess! Have you seen Anthony yet?”

Turning back to look at Hyacinth, you could not help saying with curiosity,

“Lord Bridgerton is here as well?”

Growing in surprise as Violet learned you seemed to know her youngest and her eldest, she hesitated for a brief second before attempting to give you an answer.

“Yes, your Grace. The last time I saw him, he was—”

“—Happy to see you and my sister have reunited.”

Following the sound of the new voice with your eyes meant you got to watch as the Lord in question joined your group with a pleasant smile on his face.

Coming to a stop directly across from you but next to his mother, the Viscount soon made it a point to announce in a teasing manner,

“I am afraid Hyacinth has spoken of little else since you two met in the park.”

Huffing a small laugh behind your gloved hand as you learned this, you then lowered it in order to reply with a humored grin, 

“If that is true, then I am honored to be remembered by such a lovely girl.”

And while your response did confirm to the child standing next to you that you also saw her as the friend she was hoping to be, she still felt embarrassed to have her admiration revealed in such a way. 

So she thought it was only right that she passionately say in her defense,

“I only speak of her as much as I do because you always agree with how beautiful she is, brother!”

Hyacinth’s name was said in reprimand once more by Lady Bridgerton while your brows shot up in surprise and Anthony’s eyes widened with his own dose of embarrassment.

Quickly making a grab for her daughter’s hand, the mother in front of you hurriedly said,

“Please excuse us, Duchess! I have been meaning to show my little one the magnificent portraits in the next room over. But it was lovely to meet you, your Grace!”

Understanding her desire to make a hasty exit, you returned her respectful courtesy as you delightfully began to say,

“The pleasure has been all mine, Lady Bridgerton!” 

And then, turned to give a similar bow of respect to the vindicated child while kindly saying,

“And until we meet again, Miss Bridgerton.”

“Until we meet again, Duchess!”

And with her excited goodbye, she and her mother began walking in another direction until they were lost within the crowd.

As you were returning your gaze to the Viscount, the sight of his offered arm caught you by surprise first.

Looking up to catch his eyes, you heard the way Lord Bridgerton cleared his throat before saying with a touch of hesitance,

“Might I have the honor, your Grace?”

If you were slow to take it, that was only because you had to give yourself the time to smile at such a gesture before placing your hand within the crook of his elbow.

“You may, my Lord.”

As he began to lead you in the direction you were originally heading in, said Lord could not stop the humored chuckle he let out. When you raised a curious brow at the sound, he proceeded to explain with a slightly deprecating smile.

“I think we are a bit past formalities given what my sister just revealed, Duchess. Going forward, you can simply call me ‘Anthony’ if you wish.”

Shocked, but touched to receive such permission, you considered your words before replying with a slight hint of thoughtfulness,

“Well, if we are dropping the formalities…then you cannot continue to call me ‘Duchess’. It may be my title, but it is not who I am.”

Smiling to himself at having such permission reciprocated, Lord Bridgerton proceeded to ask,

“Then what may I call you instead, hmm? ‘My Lady’?”

Giving your own bemused hum in return, you said after a moment of consideration,

“But that is still a title, is it not?”

There was no pause in Anthony’s response as he began to explain with a certain level of coyness,

“Well, I suppose it may be a title for some…” 

Turning his head so his gaze met yours, he finished with,

“But it could also be a true statement for others.”

While smirking in your direction.

Needing to pause in your steps as the cheekiness of his words finished processing in your mind, you were helpless to stop your originally amused smile from growing into an untameable grin on your face.

Not wanting to admit how giddy the implication of his words made you feel, you decided to meet his gaze head on as you pointedly said with humor,

“Then I suspect, Anthony, that I may not mind what you call me so long as it is not—”

“Duchess.”

At once, your pleasantly, happy bubble was shattered as the reality that you two were still in public hit like a ton of bricks.

That weight only increased tenfold over when you looked ahead and were unhappily met with the sight of your former brother-in-law standing not five feet away from you.

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[prettyboykatsuki]

Fang can you talk about how Eren sees himself ig in a modern setting or like how he would be in your eyes in general as person in how he acts and lives and in a relationship,,, I just like how your mind works

HI my dearest it took me a hot minute to answer this bc i was thinking on it for a bit jhkdjskj

for one, my modern!eren is usually someone i've adapted from canon which means i make him a traumatized rags-to-riches story with a poor mom and a rich dad + half-brother.

in general, i think of modern eren as kind of perpetually a bratty and lovesick idiot since i think that's the most sensible with his canon characterization. i do think he's probably a little bit more warm when he's young (careefree and spirited) but the older the gets the more like..mildly toxic he becomes but it's not BAD

and i really credit so much of that towards the fact he is utterly obsessed with you and it becomes more of a problem as he goes into adulthood and you feel sort of far-away. eren is a petulant character but he's also usually well-intentioned in even his worst, most unjustifiable behavior. i think this translates to i'd do anything for you in a way that you're usually responsible for keeping on eye on him for.

modern eren is like boyish and easily agitated and usually kind but detached with people he doesn't know well. he acts like a little kid around his friends and family but his reputation outside of that is like cool and mysterious (which he isn't.... he just. doesn't care about anything other than his friends lol)

he has a view of himself that aligns with his personality. uses words like headstrong, loud, passionate. those aren't inaccurate. he is definitely self-aware about being good-looking and will use it to his advantage if he's able to but he's not rlly that concerned about the attention lol. he just carries that energy like he knows he's hot shit sometimes which is annoying and sexy at once.

with his partner he is sooooooo childish. so so childish and he wants to get his away. SUPER selfish about monopolizing your time he doens't care at all. if you're at a party and he feels like he's being ignore he will simply leave and take you with him. the only people he lets touch you other than him are armin and mikasa (they come in a set. do not seperate) and he sees them as extensions of himself

(im saying u have an extra bf and gf if u want lol) but everyone else he will simply kick to the curb. he does however know his attitude is bad so he is Super Respectful to your family if you have a good relationship to them.

he is nice to all of your friends in general he is a good guy to people he sees as extension of you and he's like baseline respectful to most people. he will side-eye men in ur life who he knows want to fuck you no matter how much u deny it.

overall a big hopeless idiot romantic who is constantly chasing your tail and pulling your skirt like a elementary kid with a crush. but at the exact same time the sexiest dude alive. he pulls it off somehow lol.

[allegra-writes]

"The Aftermath" Part III

Armand x Daniel Molloy

NSFW

Warnings: Rough sex, dirty talk, a tiny crumb of daddy kink. Idk, this turned out cleaner and more angsty than expected

Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable character, and for legal reasons I won't be accepting tips for this story or any story set in Anne Rice's Immortal Universe. Thank you!

MY MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Previously Next

“What the fu- GET OFF ME”

“I will not!” Armand had both of Daniel’s wrists gripped tightly, using the full weight of his body to pin Daniel’s to the floor, effectively trapping him, “If I have to physically restrain you to stop you from leaving me, so be it”

"You can't keep me here against my will!" Even as he said it, he wondered if, maybe, he could. Vampiric strength and all, he couldn't seem to make Armand budge. The more his maker pressed down on his wrists, the more Daniel understood just how much Armand had contained himself around him, the force he was using on Daniel would have shattered his bones to dust had he still been human.

"Then choose to stay!" Armand demanded, childlike and petulant, as if he truly couldn’t grasp why it had to be more complicated than that.

“It doesn’t work like that!”

“Then tell me how to make you want to stay! I’d do anything” He begged, and Daniel was able to hear the catch in his voice, feel the last thread of self-control Armand was desperately trying to hold onto. Daniel himself was feeling his own control slip. For all the power he could feel in his newly undead body, having the vampire -the other vampire, he was a fucking vampire too- so close, seeing the slow, faint pulse of blood pumping inside the bulging vein of his neck, was making him dizzy. Startled, Daniel realized he was hungry. “Anything you want me to do, I’ll do it. Anything you want me to say, I’ll say it”

Daniel shook his head in an attempt to clear it, to focus on what Armand was saying, but he took it as a refusal.

“You want me to apologize, for what little it would do? Fine, I will, even as it will not change anything. I am sorry. I am sorry for refusing to turn you when you asked me to, I am sorry for taking your memories of me and forcing you to live on. I am sorry for indulging Louis in his little schemes simply because the prospect of seeing you, of having you near again was too tempting to pass, I am sorry for not letting you die. I am sorry" Armand was practically screaming now, bloody tears streaming down his face, the mask of composure stripped away, "And the worst part is, I am not sorry at all. If I had the chance to turn back time, I would do it exactly the same, because I simply can't bear to even imagine a world where you don't exist anymore!"

Daniel cursed internally as he felt the words warm something up inside of him, melting his resolve, his righteous anger, away. Some forgotten, protective instinct inside himself, like a dormant agent that only Armand’s tears could activate. He had never been able to resist those tears, the bastard probably knew that. Even at his worst, at the height of his junky days and his mercurial, violent behavior, Daniel had always stopped short in his warpath of destruction to kiss those tears away. Armand, the puppet master, the play director, had to remember that.

Damned him. Damned the consummated actor, damn the manipulative bastard, damned the controlling freak. Damned his boyish face, so heart-rendering as it twisted in suffering. Damned his love. Damned the tears Daniel knew to be sincere.

“Damn you, Armand!” Daniel cursed, out loud this time, before crashing his mouth to his.

Damned himself. He had just damned himself, he could tell. There was no way an addict like him could get a taste of that and not become immediately hooked on it. The way Armand’s searing, silky lips felt against his own -hot with his blood- it was as if the link between their minds was there again, he could feel the kiss on his brain, the electric clarity of a thought, that's how pure it felt.

And then, Armand started kissing back, coaxing Daniel’s lips open with his own, his scorching, sultry tongue slipping inside his mouth, just a little bit, just enough for the tip to lick at the unbelievably sensitive interior surface of his upper lip, only to withdraw again, as Armand drew back, ending the kiss too soon, way too soon.

“Daniel,” There was concern in Armand’s voice, “you’re trembling”

“Feels good” Daniel mumbled. Understatement of the fucking century, but words were a little beyond his capacity at the moment. Something shifted in Armand’s eyes, the briefest spark of lust, pride, greediness, before settling on mischief.

“My firstborn… brand new and tender, a neonate” He whispered, almost in awe, before the mischievous look returned, “Everything must feel so different and overwhelming”

Daniel had no warning before Armand’s hand slid into his pants, making him cry out.

“Fuck, you’re evil!” There was probably a crack in the marble after Daniel threw his head back against it, but Armand didn’t mind, all of his attention on the newly fanged vampire as he closed his fingers around his length.

“And you, my beautiful boy, are mine” He whispered hot against Daniel’s neck, making shivers explode over his entire body, rippling and multiplying like the quiet waters of a fountain when a penny was dropped in it, “as you were always meant to be”

Before he could protest, say something inane and stupid that they both knew to be a lie, like how Daniel wasn’t his, the hand around his dick started moving, pumping slowly, the pressure carefully measured, barely there at all, but enough for Daniel to feel it, enough for speech to be an impossible feat for his mouth, busy as it was moaning.

“Do you like it, Daniel?” Armand’s devilish mouth was nipping at Daniel’s jaw, sucking at his earlobe, murmuring dirtily at his ear, “How even the smallest of frictions feels so intense on your cock? And that’s just my hand… imagine how my mouth would feel” He punctuated with a long, filthy lick at Daniel’s now hypersensitive neck, “How my cock would feel inside you… How yours would feel inside of me… I’ll never again feel cold to you, did you know that? Even if I don’t feed, you and I will be the same temperature. Can you imagine that? All that heat, all that exquisite pressure… we are so strong, Daniel, we have muscles humans don’t even realize they have, I could squeeze you just right, ride you until you came, and then just keep ridding you until you cried… You always did like it when I made you cry in bed, remember now, my Daniel?”

He did remember. Fuck, he remembered it all: The intricate patterns Armand would draw on his body with black ropes, tying him up tight and pretty just so he could spend hours torturing him, edging him with his hands and his tongue and his toys to the very brink of insanity, and then making him come over and over again until tears came to his eyes and he begged for mercy.

The devious vampire stopped the movement of his hand until Daniel opened his eyes to look at him in question, never once breaking eye contact as he licked his palm wet and sloppy, before wrapping the slick hand once again around Daniel’s cock, grip firmer this time, even as he kept the milking movements slow and measured.

“Do you want that, Daniel?” His personal devil asked, low and seductive, “Because I want it. I want to feel you inside me…”

Not fifteen minutes ago, Daniel had bragged about his self-control, the stoic discipline born out of a lifetime of self-denial, but there was only so much an ex-addict could take. It was one thing to wave a bottle of whiskey in the face of an alcoholic, it was a very different one to wet his lips with a few drops of Macallan 1926 and expect him to remain composed. And Armand was a fucking bottle of Isabella’s Islay. With a feral, animal snarl, he snapped, stunning Armand beyond reaction as he turned them around so he would be the one hovering over the older vampire. Daniel wasted no time with niceties, one hand holding Armand by the neck while the other frenziedly tore at shirts and pants and gloves until not a stitch of offending fabric was left to obscure the view of bronze skin and taut muscle. All the while, Armand smiled up at him beatifically, basking in Daniel’s fury, in the urgency and violence of his moves, parting his legs to make room for his crazed fledgling.

Daniel touched the pads of his index and middle finger to Armand’s plump bottom lip, slipping them inside the warm cavern of his mouth when he opened for him, pressing down on his tongue, letting him choke a little in his eagerness for sucking them, to taste them, to welcome any part of himself Daniel was willing to give into his body, whining as Daniel made to withdraw them before demanding,

“Bite”

He obeyed, eyes rolling back at the taste, but Daniel didn’t allow him to enjoy it for too long, quickly taking his fingers out of Armand’s mouth to briefly tease at his rim before shoving them inside, as deep as they would go, making his maker cry out.

There was little in the way of preparation, Daniel only managing to thrust and scissor his fingers inside Armand’s unholy, silky heat a couple of times before the demanding brat started begging,

“Now, Daniel, I want you now. I want to feel it, I want you to make it hurt!”

Daniel didn’t have to be told twice, letting go of Armand to lower his jeans and underwear just enough to free his dick and used his bloody hand to slick himself up before guiding his cock with Armand’s entrance and pushing in.

It was so immediately, devastatingly overwhelming that Daniel’s arms almost buckled, making him almost lose his balance. He managed to keep it together but barely, needing to hide his face in the crook of his maker’s neck to center himself again. Meanwhile Armand, as desperate and disheveled as Daniel had ever seen him, tried to wrap his legs around Daniel to push him down, to undulate his hips, anything to force more of Daniel inside himself, but one of Daniel’s strong hands splayed right below his navel was enough to pin him in place.

It was a power trip like no other. Of course they had switched before, inverting their usual roles of dominant and dominated, hardly anything could be found that they hadn’t tried in the heyday of their psychosexual games together. But it had always been make-believe, nothing but the flimsies illusion of control until Armand got impatient and flipped them over to ride Daniel as hard and as fast as he could without breaking his fragile human bones. Daniel had never held any real power over Armand… until now. Being able to keep his demonic lover in place with just one hand, forcing him to wait patiently, to take only what Daniel gave him, inch by agonizingly slow, unescapable inch, carving a place for himself inside this ancient, almost almighty monster that had haunted his dreams and nightmares for so long was exhilarating, to say the least.

By the time Daniel’s balls hit the supernaturally smooth skin of Armand’s buttcheeks, he was a sobbing, quivering mess under Daniel’s heavy, dead weight.

“Danny… Danny, please… I need… I need…”

“What do you need, baby? Tell Daddy what you need…” Daniel murmured, tone not-quite mocking. Armand whimpered, hands shaking as he clutched at Daniel’s wool-clad biceps, his shoulders, his hair, anywhere he could reach. Daniel kissed his blood-sweat damp curls, soothing.

“Don’t worry, baby, daddy’s gonna fuck you just the way you need it” Daniel rocked his hips a couple of times testing the give of Armand’s hole, splayed so snug around his cock, as much as his own resistance. He was acutely aware of every single one of his senses as they fired stimulus after stimulus at the speed of light. The only thing he could compare to how everything felt was that party down in Brooklyn so many years ago where he had tripped on LSD and ended up getting pounded within an inch of his life on the rooftop under a maroon sky. Both experiences had Armand at the center as his Polaris, the bright north star guiding him home, making sure he didn’t get lost in the whirlwind of sensation.

Proud of himself and sure he would not shoot his load as soon as he moved, Daniel pulled out. Not a couple of inches, not until just the tip remained inside, he pulled all the way out, just so he could slam right back in, muffling Armand’s cry with his kiss. Finding his purchase on Armand’s thick, athletic thigh, he hoisted it higher around his waist to deepen the angle of penetration and laid it in, setting a punishing, merciless rhythm that had Armand clawing at the back of his sweater, ripping the fabric to shreds.

“Daniel… My Daniel!”

“Yes, say my name baby… wanna hear you scream it… Fuck! You feel so fucking good…” Daniel almost asked, would have if he had found the words to do it, if it would always feel like that, every nerve on his body aflame, all of his newfound, insurmountable brainpower focused on one single point, the place his body sank into Armand’s over and over again. He could feel himself becoming this wild creature, this tameless animal with no higher reasoning, no other purpose but to have and take and possess the being under him, vampire instinct screaming at him, the voice of a revenant inside his own skull, telling him to mark his maker as his, to complete the ritual, to finish what Armand had started half a century before. Daniel felt his fangs descend, the drag of the dry bone almost sensual against his gums.

“Yes! My beloved, my fledgling, my Daniel… do it!” Armand clamored for it, exposing the enticing, endless curve of his neck, a lure impossible to resist. Daniel bit down.

Love. Cherishing, worshipful, all-encompassing love hit Daniel like a train as soon as Armand’s blood touched his tongue. He knew what it felt like, to have Armand inside his head, but that had never been a two-way street, even as the vampire had been more forthcoming inside the privacy of Daniel’s mind, his secrets had never been laid bare in front of Daniel like that.

Can you taste it, Daniel? Do you feel the sweet caress of the blood as it floods your insides? That searing, luxuriant gush of warmth as it flows incandescent from my veins to yours? I promise you, is just as orgasmic every time. There is nothing more intimate than holding a life between your arms and drink it up, no greater pleasure to our kind. Is it always going to be like this, you ask? Well, lover mine, my precious newborn, blood of my blood, sin of my sin, it won’t. In this big, wide earth, in this savage garden, no blood will ever taste as sweet, nothing will ever feel as good to you as I do. I am your maker, Daniel, nothing will ever satisfy you as I will.

A part of Daniel wanted to rebel, to protest, to push Armand away but it was useless. After all, he doubted any of his theatrics would be convincing, not after he came so hard at Armand’s words he could feel it overflowing his maker’s slight frame, leaking down his shaft, dripping on his balls. He parted from Armand’s neck, throwing his head back, overwhelmed by his very first swoon. And Armand, ruthless monster that he was, took advantage of his momentary helplessness to flip them over, straddling Daniel’s thighs so he could not escape.

“You did not think I was done with you so soon, did you, beloved?” He asked, the very image of depravity as he lazily stroked his leaking cock.

No. Daniel didn’t even dream of it…

To be continued...

[austronauts]

You got it spot on with your earlier rant but I think that's what really gets me about the whole Mitch discourse, the specific nature of the insults they're using like 'soft' and 'whiney' etc and how it just feels so insidious. They definitely have an idea in their minds of how a hockey player should look and act and because Mitch isn't masculine enough for them they make assumptions about his work ethic and status inside the locker room rather than his on ice performance, which is what they claim this is really about. I don't think they would call Auston a crybaby even if he outright said he complained to the coach about something. It's kind of funny because Mitch actually is a proper jock he's just... pretty. But it changes their entire perception and reception of him as a player. Even something like smashing his stick is normally received as a display of passion and masculine anger but when he does it he's being petulant and whiney- he can't win. It's like they want to be misogynistic but there's no women in the league so they focus on the men who don't care about presenting particularly macho

i don't think they realize how pitiful and pathetic they are? or is this an extended bit at this point and they want us to peer into their sad lives and scoff :( it's funny because auston is the one who loves to wear pink and has watched gossip girl 3 times and love is blind and knows how to sew (all of which i think is BRILLIANT and celebrate thoroughly btw) and i guaranTEE you if mitch did any of those things these men would grab mitch by the scruff of his neck and fire him into the sun for being girlypop.

also the litigation of the stick breaking thing as if he violated the Geneva Convention is - i...am?? is EVERYONE OKAY? he trotted off to go do it in the hallway in private away from his teammates and coach and fans who were already having a really bad time. like - at its most simple level i see that as considerate behavior from a coworker? i know WAY WAY WAY WAY too many men who make THEIR bad moods EVERYONE ELSE'S FUCKING PROBLEM (including my own father like hello dad) without a single OUNCE of thought about the impression they give or the impact they're having on the people around them, y'know? he clearly wanted that to be a private moment for himself to get his emotions under control because he - duh - uh... CARES about winning, contrary to what these very same fans have been accusing him of for years and years now.

and you're right about the stick breaking! the laughable thing is - like we see players break sticks all the time! and it's FINE. we get it - games get emotional. you get emotional. at least they're getting emotional about their actual jobs at work. why are these ontarian NPC's getting this ANGRY in the middle of THEIR workday about a bunch of men they don't know? go scratch your balls and do YOUR job instead of screaming at willy nylander and mitch marner to play a full 60 minutes ("wah wah well I'm not getting paid $11M like marner is" they'll cry. ok then go out there and hustle and GRINDSET your way into making $11M instead of complaining online like a DIVA BABY, bro? like bro, it sounds so simple to me!!! idk! just a thought! throwing it out there!)

as a decade+ fan of geno, i roll my eyes at all this discourse i am vaguely detecting in my peripheral vision (i say this because i refuse to look at any of these angry armchair GM's takes directly. i heard some of them last night and i no longer respect them because most of them are actual idiots desperate for scapegoats and twitter clout to fill their hollow tiny homunculus lives who would shit their sweatpants at the very prospect of coaching 1 pee wee hockey game and are content to sit around having the audacity to say that sheldon keefe should trade marner, play morgan rielly on right wing, and calle jarnkrok on defense. like. that's dumb. i just don't respect you.)

like im sorry to all these whiny babies but PLEASE get back to me when your favorite player and BRILLIANT franchise SUPERSTAR gets moody and sulky and suddenly crosschecks someone in the head and gets suspended for 2 games for no reason. then we can talk.

[passimtemere]

It was a pleasant day in the Inner City, partly cloudy as the sun prepared to set on the horizon, casting the first shades of purple onto the city streets. Alphonse had two of his sons in the car with him: his eldest, Cadmus, and one of his triplets, Karnus. Karnus appeared forlorn because today marked the day he had to partake in his first job, and added misery stemmed from his lack of knowledge about what lay ahead, as Alphonse intended it to be a surprise. Cadmus was comfortably settled in the back seat, smugly enjoying a glass of summoned wine. "It's not all bad, Karnus," he said, taking a sip of the wine. "I mean, customer service jobs are easy once your spirit dies." His chuckle elicited sharp looks from both Alphonse and Karnus.

Karnus gazed at his father with pleading eyes, saying, "Can't you just tell me?" Alphonse shook his head gently. "No, I want it to be a surprise. Besides, I've taken all your skills and preferences into account for this job, and I'm certain you'll excel. Pay no mind to your brother; he's just trying to provoke you," Alphonse reassured as he made a turn down a road.

"That brings up another question: why is he here?" Karnus frowned.

Cadmus retorted, "I merely wanted to offer my support and witness the expression on your face when Dad inevitably drops you off in front of a gas station."

Alphonse shook his head in exasperation. "Oh, for the love of... It's not a gas station. Cadmus is simply trying to spoil this day for you. He got upset when his first job turned out to be at the food court in the mall, working for Uncle Jeffy's Tacos. Initially, he was going to have a position at my company, but his behavior in the mail room resembled that of a petulant child. He needed the experience of customer service to teach him humility," he retorted.

"Oh, what a valuable experience," Cadmus snarked. "Learning the precise measurement of boiled meat, two-day-old salad, and industrial-grade grated cheese that conveniently comes in only two varieties: white and yellow, all to be neatly placed into a tortilla shell."

"That's sufficient commentary from the peanut gallery in the back seat, Cadmus," Alphonse remarked, making a zipping motion across his own lips, causing Cadmus's mouth to snap closed.

With Cadmus silenced, Karnus felt slightly more at ease.

"Oh, how about that! We're getting close," Alphonse exclaimed, his eyes catching a billboard that read 'Mr. Fogg's Asylum - the Scariest Attraction in Inner City, Opening Soon!' Karnus also noticed the sign, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

"Dad?... Dad, don't mess with me. Did you really secure a job for me at the best fucking haunted attraction in Inner City?" Karnus asked, his voice cracking slightly as he fought to keep his emotions in check and failing.

Alphonse chuckled in response. "Perhaps." Karnus was now practically buzzing with excitement in his seat, and Alphonse could sense Cadmus seething in the back.

Eventually, they pulled into the parking lot, and just as Karnus was about to leap out of the car, the doors locked. "Now, Karnus, I understand you're incredibly excited, but remember, this is a job. You'll be working in the Props/Costume department, although that doesn't rule out the possibility of auditioning to become a scare actor. However, you should be aware of your own strengths. I don't want you inadvertently scaring someone to death. You've witnessed firsthand what Stan is capable of, and you possess a similar ability. Additionally, I expect you to exhibit exemplary behavior around your boss and colleagues. Pay attention, and you'll find success. Are we clear?" Alphonse explained earnestly.Karnus had a wide grin stretching from ear to ear—though to most people, that would seem rather unsettling. "Yes, sir. I won't mess this up!" The doors unlocked, and Karnus leaped out, running toward the entrance while executing a few flips along the way.

Alphonse met his eldest son's gaze in the rearview mirror. "Anything to share, Cadmus?" he asked, unzipping his lips gesture.

"I HAVE PLENTY TO SAY."

"I'm sure you do. Lower your voice."

"Why does he get a good job right from the start? Mailroom? Uncle Jeffy's Tacos?"

"Well, for one, Karnus has maintained good grades and shown commendable behavior in school—unlike a certain someone who set a teacher's car on fire. And two, you've found your own success, so don't attempt to make this about you, Caddy. And thirdly you don't have to come at all." Alphonse responded firmly.

Cadmus frowned throwing up his hands in defeat and disappearing from the back seat of the car.

-----------------------------------

@fashionablyenigmatic

[meowzfordayz]

snacks

Author’s Note: oops wrote another food related fanfic. 🤤

snacks

Himejima Gyomei x Reader, Iguro Obanai x Reader, Kanroji Mitsuri x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Uzui Tengen x Reader

Word Count: ~1,200

CW: none

~faqs~

Doesn’t believe in snacks

But totally believes in you!

“I’m hungry.”

“Choose a pocket.”

“Excuse me?” 🤨

“Choose a pocket.”

You point at his right pocket

BAM

“Rice ball?” he offers you one

This man

Carries snacks for you 🤯

“What’s in the left pocket?”

“Pastry,” Gyomei reaches into his left pocket. “A bit crumbled, I’m afraid.”

You 😍  pastries

Who the hell cares if it’s crumbled?

This. Man.

Gets 🥐 pastry points 🥐

*wink wink*

*nudge nudge*

Yes I think I’m funny

Already carries around tidbits for Kaburamaru

And unlike Kaburamaru

You complain when you’re hungry

Loudly

Repeatedly

You’re the only headache he tolerates 🤗

And that’s to say

Barely, tolerates 

So eventually he just stuffs sheets of rice paper in his pocket

Sticks to fkn everything when he forgets to remove them before doing laundry

Also, rice paper is: brittle and flaky

He’s not an idiot

Wraps them in cloth first

But sometimes he forgets why he has a cloth in his pocket ??

See, even though you’re not with him 24/7

Cause missions and stuff

He still keeps all his pants stocked with sheets of rice paper

~Just in case 😌

And then he has to deal with the consequence

Of occasionally crushing them in his pocket

And the futile endeavor to somehow remove

ALL

Of the now crushed rice paper bits

From his pants

Not to mention

He ruined your snack 😬

Praying for the sake of his tender brain

That he can replenish his pocket before you’re together again

Loves when you ask her for snacks

Loves getting to take care of you

Loves feeding you dried seaweed

Pouts when you refuse to kiss her afterwards 😢

“My breath smells like fish,” you grunt

“Your breath smells like yoouuu,” she huffs

“Yeah, me with fish breath.”

She hums curiously

“[y/n]-chan... could you just…” nimbly grabs the seaweed you were about to put in your mouth, “Give me that.”

Munch, munch 😋

Ignores your petulant glare

“There! Are you still too embarrassed to kiss me?” she crosses her arms triumphantly

“First, you get me snack.”

She nods

“Then, you eat snack.”

She nods again

“Now, you want kiss.”

She doesn’t like where this is going… ☹️

Maybe she should’ve somehow acquired fishy breath without eating your snack ??

“Ugh. I guess I owe you one,” you mutter

Her beaming, majestic smile

Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy and stupid

You begrudgingly decide to share another piece of seaweed with her

Rip snacks

Welcome to the world of sharing is caring

“[y/n]-san! You keep eyeing my snacks!”

Mr. Flame Boi

—Waitwaitwait

—Why is Tengen flamboyant?

—When Kyojuro is literally: flame-boy…ant?

—Because Kyojuro’s a man Ig ?? And flame-man-ant doesn’t roll off the tongue well

—Don’t mind me lol

Is too observant

For his own good

Least you’re not visibly salivating

Yet

“You’ve been chewing with your mouth open,” you snip back

You almost feel badly about how quickly his face falls

Almost

“That’s terrible! I’m sorry [y/n]-san, I didn’t mean to force you to endure such unpleasant behavior!”

His face contorts in confusion when you snort

“Rengoku-san.”

“I’d like to make it up to you!”

“Rengoku-san…” he isn’t listening

“Please, share my snacks with me!”

“Rengoku-san!”

“The umeboshi is my favorite! You can have it! I also enjoy the agemochi! Which you can also have!”

—umeboshi are extremely sour and typically eaten with rice—

But hear me out: Kyojuro is a special ❄️

“RENGOKU-SAN !!”

He’s aghast 😮

Why are you raising your voice at him? 😭

He reeeally effed up

Makes a mental note [y/n]-chan despises open mouthed chewing

Poor man just wants to erase this entire interaction

If they’d just accept my snacks offering, then I’d feel the slightest bit better!

“You weren’t chewing with your mouth open,” you sigh amusedly

“I was not?” his face goes into full confusion mode

“You caught me. Your snacks look amazing. I just didn’t want you to feel obligated to share or-”

“Of course I am happy to share with you [y/n]-san!” You can have all of my snacks!

He’s totally buying extras from now on

“[y/n],” Sanemi grunts, “Finish my kempi. It’s too sweet.”

“What a surprise,” you narrow your eyes

“I tried it for you you twat,” he deadpans

“You took one bite.”

“You were the one who was hungry anyway.”

“You’re so picky Nemi,” you poke at his cheek

“It’s not picky to have standards.”

You giggle

He doesn’t know why

But like, he has standards, right?

High. Standards.

And he loves you

So like

You must be pretty incredible (you totally are dearest lovely reader! 💖)

—Tangent

I feel like Sanemi’s love would be so…

Loudly inaudible?

Disgruntled?

Undeniable?

Like, he doesn’t shy away from you

Tells you he loves you all the damn time

But hardly ever actually says “I love you”

If he has to tell you, then he believes he’s doing a shit job

Because how awful of a lover is he

If you can’t glance at him for a split second

And not recognize the pure adoration

Concern

Gratitude

He carries for you?

Be still my heart 

!!!!!

Point being

When it comes to you

Sanemi doesn’t miss a beat

“Are you going to finish it for me or what?’

You pause… nibble at your bottom lip… tap your fingertips hesitantly together

“Are you sure Nemi?”

Bingo

This man lowkey has a sweet tooth

Kempi too sweet?

Pshh what a liar 😤

But you said you were hungry

And he’ll be damned if he eats his share

When you clearly want ~more

I feel like Tengen’s similar to Gyomei in that he doesn’t believe in snacks

But unintentionally

And for a different reason

I guess

It’s not that he doesn’t believe in snacks

And more so that he just doesn’t do snacks

It’s alllll or nothing baaabyyy !! 🔥

Ask for a snack?

He’ll make you wait half an hour

And return with multiple bento

Because he wasn’t sure which one you’d prefer

He’s considerate like that

Always shushes you when you worry about leftovers

“Tengen-sama, I literally just asked for a skewer or something.”

“Tsk, don’t fret [y/n]. I’m sure Hina, Makio, and Suma will appreciate whatever you can’t finish,” with a confident wink

Man loves flexing his ability to provide 💪

Also

A skewer?

How dull

Unimaginative

Booorrring

Jokes, jokes

He doesn’t think you’re boring

You’re great

Adorable 

Thing is

You get all flustered when he shows up with full meals instead of, “Just a small snack I swear Tengen-sama I’m not that hungry!”

And he gets

So. Worked. Up.

Man highkey likes to torture himself 🥵

How your nose scrunches

And the deep, delicious way your pupils dilate

As your fists clench and unclench

Hungry enough to want the bento

But not so hungry to want goddamn four full meals

You could stop asking him for snacks

But then he’d just randomly buy you food anyway

Whenever he wanted to see

Your beautiful, sexy fluster

Smart man has you trapped 😳

Does he feel guilty for overwhelming you?

…

Yes, yes he does

But does he feel guilty enough?

…

No, no he does not

—Besides

He normally ends up eating most of your leftovers

So

Winner, winner, chicken dinner

[fortuositywritings]

Terms & Conditions

Series Masterlist

Wanda x Reader, Fake Dating AU, multi-chapter, need i say more?

Summary: You’re a troublemaker rich kid whose parents are fed up. Not another cent until you prove you are responsible like this Peter Parker kid at this Stark gala.

“You cannot be serious?!”

“Oh, but I am and it is time you take things seriously as well!” Your father’s booming voice causes everyone in the room but you to flinch. “This is the last time you make a fool of yourself and make your mother and I look like we bred an imbecile. Front page no less!”

He throws the magazine on the coffee table. Sure enough, there you were on the cover. A picture of you and Harry Osborne, a guy you see from time to time, where you are both nude in a hot tub is displayed for all to see, obviously blurring out the more sensitive areas. This was from two weeks ago. The caption reads “Hot New Couple or Another L/N Summer Fling?” You roll your eyes at it. 

“No one reads those trashy magazines,” you reassure your father but clearly he thought you would say that because he pulls out his phone. “No, but they do like social media and apparently you are quite popular on there.”

He shoves the cellphone in your face and you see that “hot tub” is trending. You can only assume what that meant. You sigh and take the phone from your father to skim through the socials and what people are saying. You read things like “Not the Osborne and L/N partnership I was hoping for, but I’ll take it” and “No, Harry. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into” with someone replying “We’ve all seen the photos. He knows exactly what he’s getting into and I wouldn’t mind getting into it too”. You scrunch your face up in disgust at that comment and hand your father his phone back.

“I am assuming Lana saw this? What did the missus have to say?” you sneer. Ever since your step mother stepped into the picture, your father actually started paying attention to what you do, acting like he cares because it’s not like he had over 20 years to play the role of the caring father. 

“She actually gave me the idea to do this, actually,” he admits, making you scoff, “Of course she did.”

“You’re lucky she did, because I’ve had it with you. At that moment I was ready to cut you off, but she told me to give you a chance to prove you could grow up and take responsibility for once. So that is what you are going to do if you want to live the way you do. Do you hear me?” he practically chews you out, no shame in doing it in front of the help who pretend to clean but in reality try not to smile at you finally getting reprimanded for your behavior. 

“Well, how am I supposed to do that?” you whine.

“You start by getting off your ass and getting ready for the gala,” he commands. 

You throw your head back and groan in a petulant manner.

“I don’t want to hear it, Y/N. You are going and that is final. It’s a black tie affair so wear appropriate attire. It is a formal event, not a club. This also means best behavior. Y/N, are you listening,” he snaps at you. 

“Ugh, yes. No skanky dress and no getting drunk. Got it,” you respond.

“Watch it. Go,” he relieves you of his scolding you. You get up from your seat and head to your room, rolling your eyes at Susan, one of the cleaning ladies who you see smirking. 

You slam your bedroom door shut and jump into your bed, throwing your face into your pillow to scream. After letting out your frustration, you turn over and pull out your phone. You decide to text Harry. You send him an article of the two of you.

You: Hey, your ass is trending. 

Harry O: correction: our asses and your tits are trending

You: right. How could i forget my tits

Harry O: don’t know cause they are pretty unforgettable

You: gross. Yours are pretty nice too, i guess

Harry O: you guess?? they are fkn spectacular

You: Mmmm if you say so

Harry O: come over and see for yourself ;)

You: Can’t. I have to go to the stark gala. My dad is making me go. I am now meant to be on my best behavior from here on out after that photo.

Harry O: how did he pull off that miracle? did he say he’d cut you off or something?

You: …

Harry O: he did, didn’t he!! that’s great haha

You: Shut up. 

Harry O: maybe i’ll see you there

You: k

Harry: you know just how to make a guy feel wanted

You roll your eyes at his response but don’t reply. You leave your phone on your bed as you go to your closet to look for what to wear tonight. 

“No skanky dress,” you talk to yourself as you rifle through your clothes. You deepen your voice to mock your father. “It’s a formal event, not a club, Y/N. Be on your best behavior, Y/N, cause it’s a black tie affair, Y/N.”

You sigh, none of the dresses calling your attention. “Black tie, black tie, black tie,” your eyes scan your closet and finally something catches them. You smile. “Well he said black tie.”

When it’s time to leave, you get in the back seat of the car where your father and stepmother are waiting for you. Your father looks at your outfit and sighs. “Y/N.”

“What? You can’t say anything when you are wearing the same thing,” you counter. You smirk when he bites his tongue and tells the driver you’re all ready to go. 

“I think you look lovely, Y/N,” Lana compliments you. Your smile dies, Lana quickly killing your good mood. She is always throwing you compliments or acting so over the top nice to you. She married your father already. No need to butter you up anymore. She won.

“Thank you, Lana,” you mumble. Although you may dislike her, you also have good manners. 

“At least fix up your tie,” your father adds. You don’t.

You find yourself wishing you were anywhere else for the fifth time in under an hour. You go through the motions, greeting everyone with a smile, sticking to your father and stepmother, taking pictures alongside them, letting them carry the conversation with other rich acquaintances they call friends. You reach for a champagne flute but your father stops you with a look. It’s the third time he’s done that. 

“If you’re thirsty, I’m sure they have water or club soda,” he says. 

“Great idea. Thank you, father. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go find some right now. I’m parched,” you let your parents and their so-called friends know. 

You head towards the bar. You stand next to a brunette woman who sits sipping on her drink, looking bored. You grab the bartender’s attention.

“Can I get a club soda, please?” you ask. You look around and notice the bar is pretty hidden so you stop him and revise, “Actually, make that an old fashioned. Thanks.”

“Do you actually like that?” the brunette beside you speaks. 

You turn your head to reply. She is stunning and you are not even looking at all of her. Her eyeshadow makes the green of her eyes pop and her curled eyelashes make them look bright. She awaits your answer, raising an eyebrow. You remember what she asked and smile. “Of course. Would I order it if I didn’t like it?”

She shrugs but keeps her eyes on you. The bartender slides you your drink. You thank him and then down it in one go when it is meant to be sipped. You pull a face of disgust.

The brunette giggles beside you. “So you don’t like it.”

“God, no. It’s gross, but it does the job,” you explain. 

“And the job is?” she asks.

“Getting me drunk,” you state bluntly, making her laugh. 

“Not a fan of these parties, I take it?” she assumes.

This time you laugh. “Parties, yes. Galas and any other event where I have to wear fancy dresses and pretend to care about enterprise-value-to-sales ratios, not so much.”

“What are enterprise-value-to-sales ratios?” she asks, feigning interest in the matter. She even leans her head on the palm of her hand to tilt her head up at you in curiosity.

“It’s basically a number investors can use to value-” you see the amusement in her eyes and you cut yourself off. You roll your eyes playfully. “Oh, haha. Very funny.”

She starts laughing, her shoulders shaking and her head thrown back. You feel foolish for falling for it so easily but you can’t be too mad when the result is making a pretty girl laugh. 

“Y/N!” your father’s voice makes its way across the room to you pulling your attention away from the beauty beside you. He waves at you to come over and you hold up your finger for him to give you a moment. 

“Shit, does my breath smell like alcohol?” you ask her, but right as she is leaning in you say, “Of course it does, what am I saying? It’s all I’ve had. Excuse me, could I get that club soda, please?”

The bartender serves you and the brunette watches in amusement as you use it like mouthwash. You turn to ask her again, “Okay, how about now?”

She gets in real close. You could smell her perfume and it is intoxicating. She pulls away, “I think you’re fine. Just do not breathe heavily when you speak.”

“Noted. Thank you for entertaining me. If there were more people like you at these things, I might even enjoy them. If you care to rescue me later out there, my name’s Y/N.”

“Wanda,” she replies. You hear your father call your name again. You widen your eyes and purse your lips in frustration, not wanting to roll your eyes. Wanda giggles, “I think they’re calling you.”

“I should have gotten two drinks,” you say just loud enough for her to hear as you walk away. 

Another excruciating hour ticks by. You play the doting daughter, speak when spoken to and keep on your best behavior, but this act is wearing you out. Someone joins the conversation, two someones actually. It’s Harry and some other guy who gives everyone a timid smile. 

“Hello, everyone. Mr. and Mrs. L/N. You look wonderful,” Harry compliments your stepmother, making you roll your eyes. She thanks him and he turns to you. “Y/N, had I known you were going to show me up in a suit, I wouldn’t have come.”

Everyone in the group laughs but you narrow your eyes at him instead. His friend pipes up, “You do look very nice, Miss L/N. I can see Harry is the lucky one in the relationship.”

You scrunch your face and Harry bursts out laughing. Everyone else in the group looks uncomfortable aside from your father who looks to be getting angry and Harry’s friend who seems confused. He glances at Harry hoping he’d explain. He doesn’t.

“We’re not dating,” you tell him. 

“Oh, sorry. I assumed because of- no yeah, sorry,” his friend cuts himself off before saying what you all knew he was going to bring up. 

“It’s alright. Everyone assumes, no one asks,” you shrug. 

“I’m sorry about my friend Peter here. This Stark internship is taking a toll on his social skills,” Harry jokes alleviating the tension immediately. The group takes an interest in Peter’s internship with Tony Stark. Your father takes a liking to Peter and after he and Harry leave to greet other people, you don’t stop hearing about it. 

“You know, you should really take some notes from that boy, Peter. Securing an internship before graduating high school, impressive. See that is what you could be doing,” your father drones on. You stop listening and just nod your head when it seems appropriate. You could really use another drink.

Wanda on the other hand has been nursing her drink at the bar. She also does not like these galas, but being part of the Avengers, it’s expected of her to show up. She wonders how much longer she can stay before it isn’t rude to leave. Maybe another 30 minutes.

“You look gorgeous, but that never surprises me,” a voice breaks through her thoughts. God, she hoped he wouldn’t be here. She downs her drink before she straightens up and turns to greet her ex-boyfriend.

“Hello, Joaquin. I didn’t expect to see you here,” she gives him a forced smile.

“Yeah, well Sam invited me and what could I do, you know,” he chuckles.

Wanda mumbles under her breath, “Say no.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Okay, it was nice seeing you. I think I hear someone calling me,” she lies trying to escape. She gets up from the stool and tries to walk past him but he steps in front of her. 

“You’ve stopped answering my messages,” he starts. She sighs defeatedly. 

“Maybe I have nothing left to say,” she tells him. 

“Look, Wanda. I’m sorry about how things ended but I think we should try again,” he blurts out. Wanda scoffs and goes to reply but he continues, “I know, I know I messed up. I can admit that but I really think now is our time. We were so good together and we can be again.”

“It’s too late.” Wanda shakes her head. 

“It’s not too late. I care about you and I know you still care about me,” he insists, but she keeps shaking her head. 

“I don’t. Not anymore,” she assures him, but he still doesn’t believe her.

“Give me one reason why we can’t try again,” he demands. He really wasn’t going to let this go. Wanda avoids his eyes and catches you clearly dozing off as your father speaks to you. An excuse springs in her head looking at you. 

“Because I am seeing someone,” she falsely confesses. 

“Oh, really. Who?” he asks, tone full of disbelief.

“Y/N,” Wanda answers and at the same time calls you telepathically.

You jump, startled by the voice in your head. You recognize it. You look around and sure enough the brunette from earlier is looking right at you. She’s talking to some guy but she stares at you like she expects you to do something. Your father asks if you’re okay.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back. I think somebody’s calling me over,” you reply and without another word, you make your way over to the bar. Wanda sees you approach, confusion written all over your face. She just hopes you can act.

You tread lightly, interrupting the guy speaking with your presence. Wanda smiles widely at you like you just told her she is going to Disneyland and then she shocks you when she throws her arms around you. 

“Darling, I was just talking about you,” she says. She leans in as if to kiss your cheek but whispers in your ear, “Play along, please.”

And whoever said “please” was the magic word had never been more right. When Wanda pulls back from your cheek, your hands immediately wrap around her waist so gracefully it’s like you’ve done it a thousand times. You smile like you’ve been told your father is getting a divorce. 

“Good things I hope.” You turn to acknowledge the guy standing there, keeping one arm around Wanda’s waist. She holds that one with one hand and the other she hangs on your shoulder. He stares at you hard as if he is studying you. You flash him a grin anyway and push your unoccupied hand toward him in greeting. “Hi, I’m Y/N. And if she told you I snore, she’s lying. And you are?”

“Joaquin,” he answers confidently, shaking your hand. He has a little grin on his face when he says this but when he sees his name doesn’t ring any bells he tries again. “Joaquin Torres. Seriously?”

“Sorry, have we met before? I don’t mean to be rude,” you play confused. You know based on his attitude and his expecting you to know who he is that he was something to Wanda in the past. He looks so offended by you not knowing who he is that you almost laugh. 

“Wanda has never told you about me?” 

“I can sincerely say that your name has never come up in any conversation we’ve had,” you reply. Technically that isn’t a lie.

“Oh, then you must not have gotten to the exes talk. You haven’t gotten serious yet,” he assumes, mostly for his peace of mind. He’s back to his cocky self. “I mean no offense. I just don’t want to get Wanda in trouble for talking to me.”

“And why would Wanda get in trouble for doing that?” you challenge him, setting him up.

“Because I’m her ex,” he explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Well weren’t you a lucky one,” you sneer. Wanda tries to hold back a laugh and tucks her head into your neck to pull herself together but you hear the small snort she lets out. You purse your lips to hold in your laughter now and pinch her waist as if to scold her for nearly making you break character. 

Joaquin straightens his back, basically puffing his chest at you. You give him an unimpressed look that he ignores to warn you, “You seem like a really good kid…”

Clearly he doesn’t read those trashy magazines or he would have not said that. Wanda pulls away from completely burying her face into your neck to turn to her ex. 

“...and you really lucked out here with Wanda, so just a piece of advice. Don’t let her go, because you never know who may come in and take your place.”

It’s obvious he’s implying he intends to get Wanda back. This guy has some audacity. You just met Wanda. You don’t know anything of their past relationship but fuck her ex. 

“I’m not too worried.” You move to wrap both arms around her waist from behind as if to prove your point and to put the cherry on top you make a show of kissing her bare shoulder and say, “But thanks for the advice, Harvey.”

“It’s Joaquin,” he corrects you, annoyed that this isn’t going the way he planned.

“What did I say?” you play dumb.

“You called me Harvey.”

“Sorry about that, buddy.” You hope the faux apology comes out as condescending as you meant it to. You find calling someone older than you ‘buddy’ always does the trick. He clenches his jaw but doesn’t say anything. 

Joaquin just stands there and stares at you, not even blinking. Wanda rolls her eyes at his childish behavior of resorting to a staring contest to try to one up you. She doesn’t have to turn her head to know that you are indulging him and have yet to lose because she can see her ex getting irritated. 

Her eyes wander away from this pissing game happening and they land on people dancing. She uses it as the perfect opportunity to end this odd confrontation. 

“Darling?” She squeezes your hand to grab your attention.

“Yes, love?” 

“Let’s go dance,” she suggests, but you really don’t have a choice because she is pulling you away from her ex now. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Juan!” you shout as you are being dragged away. 

You can hear Wanda laughing ahead of you. When you get to the dance floor, Wanda turns to face you, pulling you close enough that she can wrap her arms around your neck. Your hands naturally fall to her sides. You start swaying to the music.

“I’m actually not much of a dancer,” she admits shyly.

You smile at the switch in attitude. Earlier she was so brazen, pulling you into her arms and claiming you were together to her ex and now she can’t even look you in the eye. You find it cute. 

“Well I hope you are a fast learner, cause I am an excellent dancer,” you smirk, pulling her against your body unexpectedly. Wanda lets out a yelp and then a giggle when you dip her and pull her back upright. 

You dance until Wanda’s feet get tired. You find an empty table to sit at. Before you take a seat, you offer to get her something to drink. She gratefully accepts and you head back to the bar. You order a drink for Wanda and ask for a water bottle for yourself. 

The bartender leaves your drinks in front of you and you hear Harry’s voice say, “I thought you were supposed to be on your best behavior?” He appears by your side and eyes the alcoholic drink in your hand.

You roll your eyes. “This isn’t for me.”

You look over in Wanda’s direction and his eyes follow. He smirks, “Oh, I saw you two earlier. Nice dance moves.”

“Someone had to keep me entertained while you showed off your new friend. Thanks for that by the way. Now I have to get an internship to appear as responsible as your dear friend Peter,” you groan.

Harry chuckles at the situation but he offers, “I could ask my dad a favor and you could come work with me at Oscorp.”

You shake your head. “And have to see you every day? No thank you,” you joke. “Seriously though, thank you for offering but I think this is something I have to find on my own to please my father. Now, there is a pretty lady waiting for her drink, so I must go.”

“Yeah, good luck trying to hit that. You know she’s an Avenger right? She’s not going to fall for your bullshit,” he taunts. 

“Why do you assume I’m trying to sleep with her? I’m on my best behavior, remember?” you remind him. He shakes his head laughing as you head back to the table. You place the drink in front of Wanda. “Here you are.”

She thanks you then notices that you didn’t get a drink for yourself. “Are you letting me drink alone?”

You smile. “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be here. Usually my stepmother gets tired by the end of the third hour and since it seems like she calls the shots, we leave when she wants to go. Also, I’m meant to be on my best behavior, which to my father also includes no drinking.”

“Ah. Well cheers to being on your best behavior,” she lifts up her drink and you tap your water bottle against it laughing.

After taking a sip of her drink she says, “Thank you by the way for saving me earlier.”

“Of course. It would have been rude of me to ignore you when you shout my name,” you shrug.

“Shout?” she asks, confused.

“Yes, didn’t you? Or am I suddenly hearing voices in my head?” you ponder. You could have sworn it was her voice.

“Do you not know who I am?” she asks, curiously.

“You’re Wanda. And I’ve just been told you are an avenger,” you answer. Then it clicks. “Wait! You’re the one with the red magic. You can, like, lift things.”

She chuckles, “Amongst other things.”

“Are you saying that was actually you in my head?” you start catching on. Wanda nods and bites her lip, worried that you might get mad at her for doing that.

“You scared the shit out of me, but that’s incredible. No wonder your ex wants you back. He was dating a beautiful, kick ass Avenger. Imagine screwing that one up.” You shake your head, wondering how he could let Wanda go. 

Wanda blushes but answers that for you, “The power stuff isn’t for everyone, I guess.”

“So can you read people’s thoughts?” you ask to avoid talking about her ex, not wanting to bring up possible bad memories.

She nods her head and decides to play with you. “And I can read your future.”

“No way. Show me,” you demand.

“Give me your hand,” she requests. She takes your hand on the table and closes her eyes, pretending to concentrate. “Let’s see. You will have to make a hard decision in the near future, so get your priorities straight. Your lucky numbers are 8, 12, 23.”

You scoff and Wanda opens her eyes, shining brilliantly with mirth. She chuckles, “How are you so gullible?”

“You are the worst,” you say, but you laugh along with her. A flash goes off but you ignore it, to flick Wanda’s leg with your other hand. She doesn’t retaliate but she does shuffle her chair closer to you and pulls her hand from yours in order to grab ahold of your tie.

“Sorry, it’s been driving me insane,” she says as she fixes it. You allow it and even thank her when she pulls back. She goes to put her arm back on the table but forgets her drink is there and knocks it over, it spilling on you. 

“Shoot. I am so sorry.” She grabs a cloth napkin on the table and pats your wet shirt. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, but she keeps patting you like it’s going to make a difference. You have to hold her wrist to get her to stop.

“Wanda, it’s fine. I’m probably leaving soon anyway,” you tell her to make her feel better. 

“Yeah, but now you smell like you’ve been drinking and the stain doesn’t help. I don’t want to get you in trouble. Here, follow me,” she demands and once again it’s not like you have a choice because she grabs your hand and pulls you along with her. 

You see her heading toward the elevators. “Where are you taking me?”

“To my room. I have clothes you can wear,” she explains as she pulls you into the elevator and presses the button for her floor. 

“You live here?” 

“Yeah. I’m always here if not on missions. We have a floor with a gym for training. So it’s like working from home,” she tells you. You arrive on her floor and she takes you to her room. Closing the door, she tells you to take off your shirt.

“Yes, m’am,” you tease. She rolls her eyes as she makes her way to her closet. She pulls out a sweatshirt for you. “Did it get on your pants too?”

“I don’t think so?” You drop your jacket, button up, and tie on the floor and hunch over trying to smell your pants. “I can’t smell anything.” 

Wanda throws the sweatshirt in her hand onto her bed and comes over to you, falling to her knees. “Come here.”

“What are you doing?” you ask her, still hunched down.

“I’m trying to see if you smell like alcohol. Now come closer,” she commands, grabbing you by your belt and pulling you. You straighten up and shuffle over until you are right in front of her. She sniffs your pants and you awkwardly stand there trying incredibly hard not to have your thoughts stray to inappropriate places.

“I can hear what you’re thinking,” she says looking up at you. Your face flushes red. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Well can you blame me? I mean-”

“Wanda, I knew you’d be- Oh my god!”

You and Wanda jump to the sound of someone walking into the room. She stands back up. Both of you look to see Steve covering his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company. I’ll uh, leave now. Sorry.”

He turns around and rushes out the door, closing it behind him. 

“See, he’s probably imagining the same thing,” you continue your point. 

“Oh my god. Just, here.” She throws the sweatshirt at you. You chuckle as you put it on. She glares at you. “It’s not funny. He’s probably going to try to talk to me tomorrow about the importance of locking doors or something.”

“Just tell him the truth. You were helping me out and sniffing my pants to know if they smelled like alcohol,” you advise, but saying it out loud, you knew it sounded like a dumb excuse. She gives you a look that says so as well. “Yeah, just tell him you’ll lock the door next time.”

Wanda changes as well, tired of wearing her heels and tight dress. You laugh when she motions for you to turn around, which is not fair. She got to see you change. You turn around anyway. 

She insists she’ll wash your stuff and send it over to you. There is no room to argue so you give her your number to text her your address. Right on time, your father calls you asking where you are, telling you that he and Lana are waiting for you so they can leave. You tell him you’ll meet them by the elevators. Wanda follows you down. 

“It was nice meeting you. Thank you for making today interesting,” you bid her farewell right outside the elevator.

“Same goes to you,” she replies, hugging you goodbye. 

“Y/N, let’s go,” your father calls out, cutting your hug with Wanda short. 

“I’ll be right there!” you shout over your shoulder. You shake your head at your father’s impatience, making Wanda giggle. You smile and say goodnight, walking over to your parents.

“Where are your clothes, Y/N?” your father asks while you head towards the exit. You leave him wondering, hoping you hadn’t done anything that he would deem as misbehaving.

He finds out the next day, or at least he thinks he’s found out when his assistant forwards him a link to a tabloid article titled “Y/N L/N’s magical night with Wanda Maximoff”.

He reads: 

You heard that right. Y/N L/N was seen last night at tech billionaire Tony Stark’s gala with the one and only witchy Avenger, Wanda Maximoff. Whether the two hanging out all night was planned, no one knows. This is the first time the two have been spotted together. L/N arrived last night with her father David L/N and step-mother Lana L/N. 

(Photo that was taken when you arrived)

She may have arrived with her parents, but she spent most of the night with Maximoff and looked rather chummy. 

(Photo of you holding Wanda while talking to Joaquin)

(Photo of you and Wanda dancing)

(Photo of Wanda holding your hand at the table)

Sources say L/N disappeared with Maximoff a few hours later, only to be caught outside the elevators with a wardrobe change. Does the sweater look familiar?

(Photo of you and Wanda hugging outside the elevator)

(Photo of Wanda in that same sweater a few weeks ago)

To those rooting for Harry Osborne and Y/N L/N to officially get together, you might have to keep waiting on that. It seems like L/N is not quite done playing the field. Who would when she is hitting home runs like these?

Your father feels a migraine coming on. Fortunately for you, he is on a plane on his way to another city for business, which means he can’t yell at you at the moment. He does send you a text. Two actually. 

Warden: (link)

Warden: We’re talking when I get home.

You’re confused until you click the link and read it all for yourself. 

“Oh shit.”

_______________________________________________

Had this one in the vault for a while. I’m excited to continue it. Let me know what you think and also things you would like to maybe see happen in this story! It’s still under works so suggest to your heart’s content.

taglist: @scarletswandawitch @imdreamingblo @anxietyisgreat @xxromanoffxx @romanoffomixam @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @harleyswanda @gimaximoff @simplysimping999 @cmaysf @olsensnpm @chaekhan @dumpaccdontmindme @iliketozoneout

comment if you wish to be added to the taglist for this story or my Wanda stories or in all

[dreamypainter]

RSA Bound

Authors note: got brain rot about an RSA au for the twst boys because i'm always a sucker of character development for the sake of others.

Characters: All the dorms (all of them this is a really long headcanon essentially)

Warnings: some weird behaviors (for obsessive thinning and such) but nothing graphic

----

Rsa vs Nrc

Chenya was a youth of mischief and poetry, often coating his messages with flowering language and sweet deceptions so RSA never really knew what to make of his many tales when coming back from their rival school. But when one day he announced they had stolen away a poor unsuspecting victim, unease was immediately aroused.

Some claimed Chenya made it up, to spark some sort of unrest in calm as he was bored, though it was rare that Chechnya outright lied so many were on board with at least trying to offer a hand to the poor person instead.

Chenya snickered as he watched his classmates fumble out explanations on why they needed to go to the NRC right now. Of course, the first time he had met you their predictions were not far off but now? He doesn't think he's seen villains melt so quickly in another's presence. (But he wouldn't miss a chance to see you, so he opted to sit in the corner and observe.)

“Wha-” Crowley’s mouth flapped open not far off from a goldfish as RSA’s principle demanded a new event. “What are you talking about? Me? Holding a student hostage?”. You briefly flashed to his mind before he dismissed it. It couldn't be you, after all, he was such a gracious principle and you were so well taken care of! (Not to mention some powerful students had grown fond of you and he really couldn't risk taking you away from them.) “No no no you've been mistaken my good sir but-” a brief idea sparks in his head,” how about we organize a transfer program instead?”

Of course in his haste to try and alleviate the situation and save whatever face he has left he offers to allow you to traverse schools for a few semesters. It's a quick discussion, messy in theory with loopholes riddling the communication, and by the end, it ends up in a full transfer competition. Whichever school you preferred you would stay.  Just to loosen the rumors. He thinks.

Staring into the eyes of enraged powerful villains he thinks he may be, had messed up. Just a little. 

Dorms reactions under cut!

Heartslabyul is fuming! They're petulant on glares and subtle degrading remarks throughout the entire process, glaring at the paperwork as if their collective anger could somehow burst the papers into flames and prolong your leave. They walk you to the gates of RSA dutifully on your first week, making sure to leave their marks on you in front of the surprised heroes. 

Riddle is angry at everything about the entire procedure. He lets out an angry puff of air as he escorts you to the gates, glaring at the few students who dare to stare at you. The audacity they have to steal you away, next time they try this it's off with their heads. (Literally) His lips meet your hands in a sort of reverence before he departs. 

“I'll see you soon, if you need anything don't hesitate to reach out.”

Trey is a lot calmer, the sole reason why Crowley hasn't ended up in a ditch by his own dorm's hands (although he'd be lying if he didn't sometimes get the urge to strangle the crow himself.) He's sad to see you go but doesn't want this to be any more stressful for you so he's careful to hide his feelings behind a smile, bidding you adieu at the door. 

“Take care of yourself for me? I'll bake you something nice when you get back.”

Cater never misses an opportunity to post, although a lot of his posts now highlight a sadder tone and snarky nature towards an unseen figure. Man crows are kinda annoying, right? Anyways y/n is leaving today :(( praying that they come back soon! He makes sure to have some sort of communication before dropping you off. 

“Don't be a stranger ok? For real, I'll miss you”

ADeuce is sobbing the entire way through, both of them having almost plastered the principal to the wall when they heard the news. You had become a tight trio and having you gone (or even the prospect) leaves an empty hole in the middle. It's almost frigid and they're probably the most clingy when it comes to communication, often sending good morning and good night texts. 

“Hey, you can't forget about us!! Remember no new friends!”

Savanaclaw is far more hostile in their approach, with no real image to uphold but their strength they make sure to show their prowess when making Crowley's life a living hell. He's never without some sort of scratch or peace with their constant pranks and predatory gazes from across the schoolyard. Savanaclaw escorts you on your second week, forcing a few last head pats before they let you go. 

Leona tries to not let his disappointment at you leave show, but it's a bitter experience having something ripped from him again. A familiar hole of abandonment opens in hers and he is especially tasty throughout the program, the only thing keeping him from truly lashing out is the fact that you hadn't done this by choice. Before He lets you go he grips onto your arm one last time.

“Herbivore… don't befriend other people so quickly. See you.”

Ruggi is much more emotional, openly letting his disappointment show, and is probably the sole reason Crowley has come to school with pink glitter in his hair without fail. For the rest of the time you are in NRC he's clinging onto you, draping over your shoulder and offering to accompany you on chores. As he lets you go at the gate he nuzzles your cheek quickly. 

“See you later ok? That's a promise! Shishishi”

Jack is devastated, not having any energy to truly express his anger but clearly lacking his usual respect for authority. Much like a dog watching its owner depart for the first time he's heartbroken and a little lost without you. (He makes sure not to fall behind though, he doesn't want to disappoint you when you come back.)

“You're coming back, right? Ah sorry, I didn't mean to push, but I'll miss you.”

Octavinelle is an emotional mess, they even had to close down their precious lounge for a while due to Floyd and Jade wreaking havoc in the halls and Azul completely going unresponsive. They're desperately trying to look for loopholes the entire way around but eventually have to come to terms with the fact that you'll be staying away for a while. They're sticky at the gates and the RSA students have to practically pull you away. 

The leader of Octavinelle is a title he has to uphold with authority, but when the news hits him he weeps in his pot for days on end, only coaxed out when you reach in for him. He hates the fact that you're leaving, he hates the fact this was done without your knowledge, he hates Crowley for doing this to you both. He's going to have to give him strict guidance in how to properly yield a contract. But for now, he leaves you at the gate, barely able to keep it together. 

“Don't stay away for too long… when you come back I'll have the twins cook something for you.”

While usually, he calms his brother's temper he can't help but lash out at himself during the time that you're gone or packing. There is no need for calm when it's so obvious that the school needs to be disciplined for sending you away like this hm? It's unforgivable, but even amidst his rage-induced gaze, he's gentle with you as he escorts you to the gates. 

“Alright, here we are. You're coming back of course so there's no real need for tears.”

Floyd is crying one minute and angry, tearing into an unsuspecting victim the next, citing the point of his emotional stability (or lack of it) to the loss of his shrimpy. The stone walls are riddled with holes and eventually, the dorm had to suspend him in fear of the entire building collapsing to water if he had continued. You're late for your next class when he brings you to the RSA refusing to let go of you until his brother comes. 

“Wahhhh it's so unfair!!! I'll be sure to strangle that crow for you!”

The usually chipper Scarabia is oddly silent during the days of your departure. There is no music nor dancing, no feasts or light but rather a sort of mourning. The lack of their eccentric dorm leader only leads to ongoing turmoil. Though they do not outwardly threaten harm, the lack of their usual light suffocates the shadows in the school. Crowley ends up having to beg you to fix it before you go, and they're only truly back in “working condition” when allowed to take over for the next week. 

When the news first hits him Kalim sits blankly on his bed, staring at the wall until Jamil comes in to scold him for almost being late for class. But when he gets into class he can hardly concentrate, part of him feels bad for his performance yet another part cannot bear to care. It's only when he realizes his behavior is affecting others that he comes back to a bright smile, because surely if he can stay useful to you'll come back to him! He hugs you tightly at the gate but departs with a bright smile.

“Ah sorry sorry! I'll throw a huge party when you get back so come home soon!” 

Jamil is exasperated at the onslaught of reactions from the others but can't bring himself to judge too harshly as he acknowledges the pang in his chest. It seems you've been sneakily asserting your place in his heart huh? Well, distance makes the heart fonder, but don't stay away for too long. 

“It won't be long, so don't think you can run away. Ah, but don't worry it's not like I'd ever hurt you.”

Pomefiore prides itself on prestige so there's no actual outward change in their dorm, still picture perfect and aesthetic. The change rather is behind closed doors and the concoctions of plans they have to make you stay theirs. More emotional fits, languid and heartfelt conversations, and gifts than usual seem to flood your way (even more than scarabia) during their reign of your schedule. There is a sight to behold when they leave you at the gate as if to mark you something that doesn't belong at RSA. 

Vil is already plotting the demise of a certain bird, evident in the array of potions that litter his usually tidy desk. That being said he doesn't let his labors show as his improbable makeup and care hide any sort of fatigue. He can't have his potato seeing him a mess before they leave after all. He leaves a lipstick stain on your neck before he departs. 

“Don't stop the skincare potato, I expect you to uphold yourself without me.”

Rook is a composed and distinguished gentleman, so of course, he wouldn't let his gruesome path be seen by your soft eyes. (Crowley has had years shaved off his life by the random arrows plunged right next to his legs.) He is artfully vengeful with his endeavors yet he's perfectly cordial as he brings you to the gate.

“Bon voyage mon ami! Don't forget to wander back home afterward.”

Epel is fuming the entire way through and if vil hadn't threatened to revoke the day he could go with you to the RSA he probably would have joined the twins on their ramage. He's tamer in his wrath towards the principal but that's because if he doesn't keep himself on a tight leash he might just kill him. 

“Alright this is where I have to go but you know, don't be a stranger now!”

Ignihyde was already a secluded dorm, so really no one noticed their change, other than of course then changes themselves. Security and cameras seem to double around the school, tracking and following your movements and Ortho is obsessively at your side. There's barely a time when you cannot hear an incessant whining near your ear or the glaze of a camera out of the corner of your eye. Though they don't show themselves until your departure they do take it upon themselves to physically guide you. 

Idia stands awkwardly at the gate with his brother, not bothering to look up at the scandalized faces of fake heroes. They already had everything so why did they get you too? It's so not fair and he's wrecking them the next time he sees them. But for now, he's more focused on your smile as you wave goodbye. 

“If I had a pomegranate you'd be stuck with me forever you know? … Just kidding.”

Ortho becomes what can only be described as a human security camera, he almost follows you inside the school until you kindly remind him he's not a student. He's near tears as he makes you link pinkies with him. 

“Pinky promise you’ll come back ok?? “

No dorm is muddled with fear such as Diasomnia, the air around them is practically suffocating as they roam the halls. The doors creak louder, there is hostile laughter in the air even when there is no one present. Danger reeks as their rage seems to converge into a tsunami of what can only be described as a near-death experience. No one deserves to have rest if you were put in such a position to be taken away from them, there is an unspoken lesson amongst the rubble. 

Malleus is not pleased, at all. There isn't a single soul able to speak in his oppressive aura as he broods on his bed. He still attends classes but many wish he would stop as they can practically taste the dirt they'll be buried in as he cascades through the door. The stone under his feet is left cracked as he leads you to the gate.

“Child of man, do not keep me waiting.”

Lilia is more playful in his markings, gleefully making light of the tidal wave of injured students flooding the nurse's office. He's often seen flitting around in the background, plotting with the winds and speaking to the earth. (Or rather something underneath it.) You swear as he drops you off you can feel the tremor of the earth with your feet. 

“Of course this is temporary, so rather than goodbye it's fun!”

Silver is on the outside no different than usual. Sleeping away the days and nights, trapped in slumber and almost looking peaceful. Only Diasomnia s, or the way he sleeps is no longer a refuge but a curse plaguing him as you leave. He drops you off and just like a proper knight promises your safety. 

“If you're in danger please call, I promise I'll answer.”

Sebek insists that the loss of the human isn't at all something that he's concerned about, which is a comical statement as he screeches at the others about their conduct. (because what if you take this as the last image to RSA and god forbid likes them better???) You're the last thing that he assumed he'd swear his loyalty to but he supposes it's fine if Malleus-sama approves of you so don't keep him waiting. 

“I won't forgive you if Malleus- sama is troubled by you so uh- stay safe! That's an order!”

It's not long of course until Azul finds a loophole in the crudely made trade. You had to attend classes there, but it never said there could only be one student in the program. 

[the-masked-ram]

Taking His Beauty- Chapter Two

A/N:Reposting all current works, hopefully everything will be up to date in the next 6 months. However my patreon will always be 2-3 months ahead. Currently not tagging anyone unless they request to be added, any old taglists will be added during Chapter 6 CW: Not SFW, Dark Content, Yandere, Fem Reader, Reader Death, Major Character Death, Non-Con elements, Dubious Consent, A/B/O Dynamics, Forced Mating Bond, Omegaverse, Piss Kink, Scent Kink, Biting, Possessive Behavior, Knotting, Breath Play, Abduction, Slow Burn, Violence, Mild Gore, AU ---

Chapter Two: Be ProfessionalDabi wondered what happened to the last caretaker of the cell block, he didn’t really care per say, more that he was curious. There wasn’t much to be curious about that was new, most of it was the same old same old. Had the others also been caught? If not, how were they doing? Was the Paranormal Liberation Front still working away? Various things, wondering about life outside his room. If he was honest, though, and Dabi was an honest, blunt bastard when it came to things like this. He didn’t actually give a damn, beyond letting it occupy his mind for a break in the boredom. If he was honest, he was glad whatever happened, happened. Because you were now a part of his day for two, and sometimes if he was lucky, a whole three hours out of the day. There was only one day where you didn’t appear, and though he supposed you having a day off from what was work was a good thing, he was not happy with your missing presence. He also wasn’t happy when you came back the next day, or generally any day you came to him, that he couldn’t get up and scent every piece of you.   You were his and the fact that he could smell the lack of himself on you drove him a bit feral at points. His eyes would constrict to pinpoints and he would shift. Causing the security devices in his cell to train on him.   Today was particularly bad. His quirk begged to be let loose, itching, and burning beneath the surface causing him to fight it on a conscious level, even if he didn’t have to. The cameras, the guns, everything seemed so irritated with Dabi’s movements and his slow loss of control.   You, however, were just getting irritated with the constant whirring of machinery, and it made him smile oddly enough as you muttered curses under breath at the objects. “Dammit I can’t think with all this noise,” your voice had turned into a petulant growl.  Dabi snorted, “What’s wrong, doll? Havin’ a breakdown?”   You glared at him but there was no real heat behind it. And the tablet you were currently holding, flashed as your fingers pressed and swiped. Suddenly the sounds of whirring stopped and Dabi tilted his head.  “Ah, sure that’s wise? What if I use my quirk?” he flashed a toothy grin. You rolled your eyes as you tapped his shoulder, “We both know those bindings are secure and the quirk cuffs will keep you in place.” He exhaled sharply, grinding his molars together in agitation because what you said was the truth. Though he could feel his cremation burning so close to the surface of his flesh, it slipped through his mind like an eel trying to evade capture. All he felt was growing frustration.  “What happened to the last person who used work this block?” he asked. Honestly Dabi was just desperate to keep the conversation flowing. The loneliness ebbed when you were there. It felt nice to feel the familiar warmth of companionship. Especially when that warmth came with such an enticing smell.  You grimaced and glanced off to the side. Such an ugly look for such a soft, pretty omega face. He had to admit, if he had a chance to touch you, he’d show you what a good alpha he could be. “One of the cellmates wasn’t secured right during a move,” your beautiful eyes softened and once again it was a look he didn’t like. Sorrow of any sort looked out of place on your face. He could make you feel so many other things, make so many other expressions, he’d protect you from everything but himself. You were only allowed to mourn for him, because of him. He bared his teeth as his instincts pressed forward and he pushed them back. Patience. He needed to bide his time. You seemed receptive, maybe... he shook his head as he realized he was wasting what short time he had with you getting lost in the loop of his thoughts. It had gotten so easy anymore.           “What happened t’ the inmate?” Dabi asked with a knowing lull to his head as you checked over some numbers from the machines on his IV.          “I’m not sure, I suppose they were properly reprimanded,” your response was mildly distracted as you entered the numbers. Dabi grunted, not sure if he was happy with the answer merely because he didn’t have your full attention. Logically he knew that made no sense, but you were his omega, you should give him your focus fully.        His lip lifted in a sneer, “They’ve been put down like a dog I bet.” “I’m sure they have just been moved somewhere more secure with a more appropriate quirk for the new worker,” you frowned at him as you looked up from the cart you were pushing to the front.        “Mmmm, wanna actually bet on it, dollface?” “That’s highly inappropriate,” you responded, the scent of embarrassment leaking through the patch. “Ah, but yer thinking about it?” he said cruelly. “Of course, I am! You just suggested it! I have to think about something to respond to it,” you huffed indignantly. He barked out a sharp laugh even as you began to try to feed him. He frowned he hated this part. Dabi was a capable adult, he could feed himself, he needed to show you he could. He almost bent the spoon when he bit it, instead trying to focus on the fact how much he loved your sharp wit. You were made for him. He licked the speck of food off his lip, not missing the way your eyes followed the movement curiously. “You had a piercing on your tongue.”  “I had them other places too. A lot of fun places,” he quirked a brow as he accepted another spoonful and shrugged. “However, the only metal they let me keep was my staples. Think it had to do with the fact they keep my skin together and all.” Your eyes widened a bit as you fed him again and watched as he deliberately used his tongue to scoop at the rice porridge before closing his lips around the utensil. His blue gaze never leaving yours, and somehow even as tied up as he was, he made you feel vulnerable. A soft squeak left you, completely unbidden and you felt your scent gland swell with excitement.           He leaned back with that lazy grin and knowing stare. His nostrils flaring as he inhaled just a smidge. “God it’s been a while since I smelled something like that,” he groaned, head falling back against the chair.   Your eyes specifically didn’t drop to his lap, you would not give into your curiosity, you were a professional.You were a fucking professional, and even as you floundered in your head Dabi basked in the soft scent of apple blossoms and something that reminded him of vanilla or maybe sugared melon but he couldn’t be sure, it was still too faint. God he’d fucking devour you, make you beg for his knot, make you realize just how perfect you were for him. “A-are you done with the food?” you almost cursed yourself for the tremble in your voice.      “Yeah.” He knew what that meant, he knew you’d leave soon, but he also was ok with ending it here, earlier than usual. He’d affected you, and it’d been so fucking easy.Maybe next time, he could get you to unbind his legs, or maybe move his hands to the front. Maybe he could get a fucking touch in. He’d make you crave him. Dabi gave good dick, had a silver tongue, and at least that hadn’t changed.   ---  Find early access and a lot more at my Patreon